Puppies Redux: AU 601 This is My Island in the Sun
by Jedi's Pal
Summary: This is a REPOSTING from our shipper wish fulfilment series that changes up the Season Six premiere starting with S5 E16 Depth Perception. This is a REPOSTING of "Puppies, Kittens and Gun Toting Babies" (Chapters 4-6) and "Reconnecting" (Chapters 2, 11 & 14), combining together those T and M rated stories so it can be read in one comprehensive continuous storyline for the 6.01 AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _Thank you all for your appreciation and enthusiasm for the first REPOST of the 7.01 AU, "We'll Always Have Paris." Thank you to all the wonderful Burners for the reads and reviews. We're glad that you're enjoying reading these chapters as one continuous storyline._

 _This is a REPOST of Chapters 4-6 of_ ** _Puppies, Kittens & Gun Toting Babies_** _and Chapters 2, 11 & 14 of _**_Reconnecting_** _. This is our reimagining the Anson arc. It starts with_ _Fiona and Jesse are late getting back from the Cayman Islands after blackmailing Anson's banker, George Anders._

 _We begin several hours after Michael (now sitting alone in the cafe) has taken Sam's call explaining that he never got to see the FBI deputy director because Commander Sam Axe was now being investigated as a possible Russian agent._

 _()()()()()()_

 **6.01 AU – This is My Island in the Sun - Part 1**

 _An alternate for Season Six and beyond following on from 5.16 – Depth Perception_

 _()()()()()()_

 _Miami 2012_

Running a hand over his chin, Sam Axe peered out of the window and up the metal staircase to the reinforced steel door at the top. The last time he had spoken with his friend, it had been to inform him that Anson Fullerton had outplayed them yet again. Now, the conniving evil genius not only had his money, he had also managed to neutralize Sam's buddy network within the FBI.

He sighed again, the anger over how skillfully he had been manipulated now buried under a layer of distaste laced with trepidation.

"You ready for this?" He turned to his passenger, his voice flat and emotionless.

"Me? I thought -" Jesse Porter's eyes went wide and he paled as he realized he wasn't going to get any help from his friend.

"Well, you thought wrong, this is on _you-_ \- and _her_ , but as she's—gone… it's _all_ on you. I'm here for Mikey."

Swallowing thickly, Mr. Porter nodded. He had honestly thought Sam was going to flatten him when he'd met him at Opa Locka Airport earlier. Fresh back from DC, still trying to assimilate the news he was now being investigated as a possible Russian spy, the former SEAL had been in no mood for the bombshell dropped on him by the former CIFA agent.

"I didn't have much say in it, Sam. She just––" Jesse muttered, his words fading away as he climbed out of the car. There was nothing he could say which would make him feel better about what they were about to do. "Let's get this over with."

Knocking on the door and calling out, Sam slipped his key into the door and let them both inside. Unsurprisingly, Michael was still up. Sitting at what passed as a kitchen counter top, he had been staring at the screen of his laptop, no doubt trying to figure a way out of the trap they found themselves caught up in.

"You're back." The spy breathed a sigh of relief. "I thought-" He was on his feet, a welcoming smile on his lips as his eyes skimmed over his friends in his search for his girlfriend.

"Where's Fi?" he asked when he realized Fiona hadn't followed them in. "Guys?"

The temperature in the loft seemed to drop several degrees as Michael, sensing something had gone very wrong, looked from one man to the other, waiting impatiently for somebody to tell him what was going on. Sam, refusing to make eye contact, had managed to find something very interesting on the floor, while Jesse shifted uneasily from foot to foot, gulped, licked his lips and gulped again.

"Jesse, where's Fiona?" Mr. Westen asked again, a little firmer this time.

"Er, look, I…" The words dried in Jesse's throat. Now that he was here, standing in front of Michael, he was finding nearly impossible to do what he had to. Then in a rush, he blurted out, "I'm sorry, man. She's gone." Jesse forced himself to make eye contact. He owed Michael at least that much. "She's dead. There was a-"

"NO!" Michael shook his head in denial. "You're wrong." Tears filled his eyes and his chest heaved as if he was having trouble breathing. Jesse watched as Sam silently moved between them, the older man's eyes fixed on his best friend.

Once he had uttered the heart-breaking news, Jesse found he couldn't stop talking as he tried to explain what had happened. "We met up with Anson's banker, just like we planned. But just after he transferred the money, these guys with heavy artillery and bad attitudes turned up. They said George owed them major bucks... I'm sorry, Mike, she didn't stand a chance, man."

"Where is she? I want to see her." Michael swiped at the tears that rolled down his cheeks. He was moving back and forth, pacing like a caged animal.

"I don't know. I had to leave..."

The younger man wasn't sure how it happened. But all of a sudden, Sam was picking himself up from the floor and Jesse found himself pressed back against the wall, staring into red rimmed, moisture filled eyes with an arm pressing into his throat.

"The banker dude had tried to rip off some of his clients and they found out," Jesse choked out the words. "Fi got caught in the crossfire... There was nothing- I couldn't get to her..."

"Couldn't get to her? _You left her? You left Fiona_ _?_ What if – how do you know she's dead?" Jesse flinched as a fist punched into the wall beside his head while Michael continued to rant.

"I saw her go down," Jesse gasped. "There were too many- _OOOF!_ " Michael's fist buried itself in the tall man's ribs, driving the air from his lungs and that was only the first of many blows that rained down on him.

He didn't want to hit back at Michael. The guy had just had his world ripped apart. But even using his longer reach, Jesse was finding it hard to hold off the grief-stricken spy.

"Okay, brother, that's enough." Sam had managed to come up behind Michael while the other's attention was fixed on Jesse. Not wanting to risk getting hit himself, he wrapped an arm around his best friend's throat and secured him in a head lock.

It was a risky move. If Michael had truly lost all control and struggled, the hold could possibly break his neck. "Stand down, Mikey... Stand down, brother... Easy, take it easy." He kept up a soothing chatter as his friend stopped fighting and sagged back against him.

"What the hell happened, Jess? Where the hell were you? You should have saved her. Why aren't you hurt? You should have done more..." As the accusations flowed faster, once again Sam had to tighten his hold when Michael's hands came up to try to break his grip.

"Hey, easy, Mike!" Sam grunted as he sucked up the pain of getting his foot stamped on and several elbow strikes to his ribs. "I don't want to have to choke you out. _But I will_."

Breathing deeply, Jesse moved back, keeping a wary eye on his assailant. He made one last attempt to reach out. "Mike -"

"Get the hell out! GO! Get outta my sight before I do something you'll regret," Michael snarled, finally twisting out of Sam's grip.

"Mike, I'm sorry, man-" Jesse had known it was going to be bad. He had dreaded this moment and had thought about nothing else all the way back from the Caymans. But what he hadn't expected was such unbridled rage. The look in Michael Westen's eyes told him that the spy would like nothing more than to rip him apart.

"I told _you_ to leave..." The quietly spoken words were far worse than the shouting. "You too, Sam. I don't need you hanging around. Go home to Elsa."

"Mike…" Sam spoke softly and took half a step forward. But the look in his best-friend's eyes made him back up. "Okay, Mikey, I'm gonna give you some space. But I'm _not_ goin' home 'til I know you're alright."

Jesse opened his mouth to speak and then quickly thought better of it; _After all, what else was there for him to say_? Stepping outside, he sighed heavily and walked silently down the steps with Sam trailing after him.

"Jesse, take my car." Sam dug into his pants pocket and brought out his keys. "Go home, try to sleep. I'll take it from here."

"You sure, man? Do you think we should call Maddy?"

"I'm not involving any more people in this than I have to. Besides, Maddy's gone off to Daytona to stay with Nate for a while, so let's keep it like that. Go home, Jess. We both knew this wasn't gonna be a walk in the park." He cuffed the bald man on the shoulder and turned him towards Big Mama's car.

"I'll bring him round, but you might have to stay outta his way for a while," Sam advised, casting a glance back to the door at the top of the stairs. "See if you can get a face to face with Pearce in the morning, prep the ground for when I send Mikey there in to talk to her. That's if I can talk him into it." He sighed and rubbed a hand over his chin. "I wish you'd had sense enough to call me before lettin' things get this far outta hand."

Jesse nodded sadly. He just hoped when all this was over that Michael could find it in his heart to forgive him. Letting out a long sigh, he climbed into Sam's Cadillac and drove away from the loft to his own place in downtown Miami.

As he drove out onto the causeway, he wiped a hand over his eyes. He felt like a total bastard.

His mind filled with his last vision of Fiona, her body covered in blood and some of her long hair blowing in the breeze from where it caught in a nearby bush. A chill ran up his spine as he remembered dragging her limp body to the river and then returning to set light to the banker's car. He banged a tightly wound fist down on the steering wheel.

He should have said _no_ to doing things her way.

 **()()()()()**

Sam waited until Jesse drove off and then pulled the tall metal gates shut. Wrapping the thick chain through the gaps in the gate, he pulled out a new padlock he had purchased on the way from the airport to the loft. With the entrance secured, the older man looked around for a safe place to hide the key where hopefully his buddy wouldn't find it right away. Finally, he dropped it into one of the containers of assorted screws sitting on a shelf against the wall where the drug dealer Sugar had once lived.

Satisfied that the padlocked gates would at least slow the spy down should he attempt to run off in the middle of the night, Sam turned back to the stairs. He could guess what was waiting for him back inside the loft. After all, he had been there for the aftermath of Michael's forced extraction from Ireland by Tom Card. He had seen the depths the young agent had sunk to then and he'd been there to pick up the pieces that time, too.

Pursing his lips, Sam took the stairs one at a time. _What the hell had Jesse and Fiona been doing in the Caymans to bring things down to this?_

Just as he reached for the handle to let himself in, the door flew open and Michael stood there, his face set in grim lines, his eyes red raw and filled with unshed tears. In his left hand, he gripped a long canvas bag and, from the way the handles strained, Sam guessed it was full of enough guns and ammunition to start a small war.

"Get outta my way, Sam." The cold dead tone in Michael's voice sent a chill through the older man.

"Where are you gonna go, Mike? It's after midnight. You can't do anything until the morning." Sam remained in place, barring his descent.

"I'm gonna find Anson and I'm going to kill him. Then I'm going to find out what happened to– to..." Unable to say the words, the spy shook his head and reached behind his back with his free hand. " _Move_ , _Sam_. I'm not telling you again."

In a flash, Sam found himself staring into the barrel of his best friend's gun. But he could see the anguish and desperation in the younger man's eyes and the way the barrel wavered in his shaky hand. Moving slowly and very cautiously, Sam eased the weapon from Michael's hand and made it safe before slipping it into the back of his waistband.

Michael's breath caught and his expression started to crumble. "He left her, Sam. I can't believe-"

"Mike, you know Jesse wouldn't have done that unless there was no choice."

And, at Sam's words, the light of anger and hatred returned. The punch that came at him nearly landed, but the former SEAL half expected violence and just managed to block the blow.

"There's _always_ a choice and he _chose_ to leave her," the younger man spat back.

"Mikey, you're not thinking straight and nobody expects you to be, not right now. Going off and killing Anson won't end this. You don't even know where to look. He has all his money now, he could be anywhere in the world." Sam was relieved to see some of the tension leave his friend; thankfully the younger man hadn't completely lost the ability to reason.

"So, what do I do, Sam? What do I do? She's gone... I can't do this on my own."

The desperation in Michael's tone tore at Sam and he silently cursed Fiona Glenanne wherever she might be. _All she'd had to do was get Anson his money and find a way to track it. But instead she'd had to-_

He stopped the thought there. Getting angry at somebody who wasn't around to argue back was a waste of time. Instead, he cautiously reached out and directed his best friend back inside the loft. Once he had the door closed and locked, he followed Michael over to the counter top where the devastated man dropped his bag filled with weaponry and slumped down on one of the chairs.

"You're not alone. _You have_ friends and, if you want something to do, you can do what Fiona wanted you to in the first place." Sam walked around and collected two glasses and a bottle of Scotch from under the sink.

"Fiona wanted to put a bullet in that bastard's head," came the immediate reply.

"Yeah – yeah, she did." Sam bit down on his lip and poured out two measures of the spirit, making sure his friend took the larger of the two. Screwing the lid back on to the bottle, he took a moment to think about how to word his next sentence. "But she also wanted you to spill the beans to Pearce about what's going on and make things right."

" _You_ _want_ _me_ to go to the CIA with this? Fiona _hated_ me working-"

The spy crumbled and abruptly turned away. "I was doing this all for her. I _could_ have made things right... I just needed more time. One way or another, I woulda..." He shook his head and then swiped at his eyes before emptying the glass of Scotch in one go. "I _woulda_ found a way to end it."

Sam wiped at his own face, hating that this was happening, and there was nothing he could do but try to push his friend in the right direction.

"You have to finish this," he replied, keeping his tone even and business like. "You have to forgive Jesse. We need him, Mikey... Look, I know it's not the same thing, but he forgave you for burning him. It took a while, but he forgave you."

Michael looked up at this. "Jesse _shot_ me and, believe me when I say, I'd _happily_ return _that_ favor." He snatched up the bottle and poured himself another glassful.

"Okay…" Sam nodded his head in agreement. "But promise me you'll wait. I'm right about you needing him to talk to Pearce and you know I am. I don't know why, but she certainly prefers the company of tall, bald and urban to the rest of us. We need her in on this, _on our side,_ Mike, not trying to arrest your ass for lying to her again. Only Jesse can talk her through that and, with her on our side, we can set up Anson... He doesn't know he's lost his leverage." Sam leaned forward. "You do this right and he could be getting his in a coupla days."

Michael at least appeared to be listening. The younger man nodded sadly and then, without warning, abruptly stood up and snatched up the bottle. He walked unsteadily towards the bed. Michael looked down at the mattress he had shared with Fiona and took a long pull straight from the bottle, before turning away to almost fall down into the old green, padded chair.

When he next spoke, it came out flat and lifeless. "She was _never_ leverage. She was..." He swallowed hard and then found his voice again. "Go home, Sam. I'll still be here in the morning."

To the former Naval commander, his best friend getting drunk wasn't the worst thing he could do, so Sam said nothing and settled down to remain on vigil while Michael drunk himself in to a stupor. Once the spy passed out, the older man lifted up his friend's limp body and placed him on top of the covers on the bed. After removing the younger man's shoes, he made sure the inebriated man was lying on his side with a trash can nearby in case he woke up and needed to throw up.

Sam contemplated the shot that Michael had left unfinished on the table for a moment. Then he tossed it back quickly before heading over to the kitchen to make himself some coffee. With his beverage in his hand, he sat down at the counter and switched the laptop back on.

" _Thanks a lot, Tinkerbell,_ " he muttered. With a press of a key, he turned his attention to trying to make sense of Anson Fullerton's finances.

 **()()()()()**

It was one o'clock in the morning and Jesse was still stuck on the causeway while the emergency services cleared up the aftermath of an accident which had left the whole road blocked. He was trapped with nowhere to go. He couldn't get around the mess and he couldn't back up. _Sorta like_ …. Staring out at the traffic ahead of him and the bright city lights in the distance, all he could think about was the previous forty-eight hours and what had brought him to this point.

" _You know breaking into a hospital blood bank in order to help a blood sucking leech get his millions out of a flagged account has to be one of my least favorite assignments ever," he had complained as he'd opened one of the large refrigeration units at the Saint Georges community hospital. "B negative, right?"_

 _He had glanced around and noticed she wasn't listening to him nor was she standing by the door, watching out for guards. Instead, she was closing another fridge door and holding two bags of O positive in her hands. "Er, Fi… What are you doing? I thought the plan was two bags of B neg and the equipment to draw off some donor blood."_

 _He remembered how she had pursed her lips and stared at him. Then, all of a sudden, she had started to come out with what could only be described as the most crazy assed plan in the history of crazy assed plans._

" _You know this isn't the end of it, don't you? Anson will keep forcing Michael to do his bidding. All we're doing here is giving the bastard a helping hand." She had been sharing her opinion about what her boyfriend was doing for Anson Fullerton ever since they had arrived in the capital of the largest of the Cayman Islands." Michael is on the edge of doing something very, very bad and you know it," she continued, her speech increasing in speed and venom. "He's already destroyed CIA records for that parasite and, once we get him his money, do you really think he'll just disappear?"_

" _So, what do you wanna do about it, Fi? You got any other ideas, apart from the whole 'putting a bullet in Anson's head' plan? Cuz you know that won't fix anything. You try it and the evidence against you will be dropped into the cops' laps and you'll end up in the slammer or worse. I think for now–" He had tried to make her see sense._

" _Anson is never going to let us go. Michael doesn't get it. He's so busy trying save me, to be my white knight, to be everyone's white knight, that he keeps playing right into that slimeball's hands... So, it's up to me to find a way to break the sonuvbitch's hold on us."_

" _Okay, I'll give ya that, but what's left, Fi? Cuz, the way I see it, we're all outta moves. If you plan on running, it still comes down to the same thing. You'll either end up locked up or on the run for the rest of your life."_

 _Then she had smiled at him and lifted the bags of O negative blood up to frame her smiling face. "It's just as easy to fake two deaths as it is to fake one."_

 _He had walked towards her, shaking his head and determined to stop her before she had a chance to do something she and he would both regret. But she had dodged around him and continued talking about her insane idea and like a fool he had ended up listening._

" _Yes, don't you see? You're right. If I run, Anson will just out me. There's only one clear way to get out from the sonuvabitch's clutches and that's to hand everything over to the CIA and make them understand." She had taken a breath, her face a mask of anguish before speaking again. "If Michael believes I'm gone, if he quits trying to save me, then he'll be free to act. All you and Sam will have to do is make sure he does the right thing."_

" _Seriously? All I've gotta do–?" He had laughed at her, at the sheer absurdity of her plan. "Are you crazy, woman? You want me to go back to Miami and tell your boyfriend, the Michael Westen, that you're dead and I came back without you? Oh, no, no, no, no, no…."_ _She had to be joking._

But he had been wrong; she was deadly serious.

" _Speak to Sam first then. Let him in on what we're doing. He doesn't like where Michael is going any more than the rest of us, but he's just too lily-livered to call him out on it. Anson is too clever and he knows Michael too well. We can't risk that bastard working out that I'm still alive. This our only chance to neutralize the hold he has over Michael."_

 _He'd tried to reach out to her, understanding completely where she was coming from. But to make Michael believe she had been killed was wrong on so many levels. Couldn't she see that now she was the one roping them all into doing a bad thing even if it was for a good reason, it sure as hell didn't make it right._

 _It was then she had looked at him with a strange melancholy look in her eyes, as if she was remembering something painful. When she spoke, her tone was so soft that he'd had to strain to hear her clearly._

" _When I asked Michael how far he was prepared to go ... He told me there were no limits to what he would do to protect me. D'ya have any idea what it feels like to have somebody tell you that?"_

 _She'd paused, blinking slowly as she searched for the right words._

" _I've never told you about my family back in Ireland, have I?... I have a brother." She smiled sadly. "He loves us all deeply. There is nothing, no line he wouldn't cross to keep us all safe." She paused again, swallowing thickly. "He has no limits. He has nobody to tell him when to stop- to make him see what he's doing when he goes too far. I never believed all the stories about him, until I wit - until I actually saw what he is capable of doing..."_

 _Jesse remembered being sucked in by her haunted expression and, for a moment, his blood ran cold wondering just what she had seen, just what her brother had been capable of and remembering what he already knew Michael Westen was capable of._

" _I love my brother with all my heart, but I will not let Michael become that same sort of monster because of me."_

 _And that was when the craziness began._

The blast of a car horn jerked Mr. Porter back to the present and he put the Cadillac into drive, happy for the chance to get into his own bed and to try to make sense of what the hell he had got himself into in the small comfort of his own bed.

 **()()()()()**

The early morning sun streaming in through the loft windows caused Sam to wake from where he had finally fallen asleep, slumped over the kitchen counter top with Michael's laptop still open next to him. Slowly straightening up, he yawned and then groaned as he stretched his back and then rolled his shoulders, easing out all the kinks from his aching muscles.

Turning, he glanced over to the bed and the figure curled up on top of the covers. Michael was still on his side, his knees drawn up to his chest and his face buried into Fiona's pillow. Rubbing a hand over his chin and jaw, Sam searched for the strength to carry on with what he considered to be a gross breach of trust.

He understood why they were torturing his best friend, but it didn't mean he had to like it. If he had been there when Fiona had come up with this hare-brained scheme, he would have done his best to put a stop to it. She was no better than Mikey when it came to finding a strategy to fight Anson Fullerton. They were both so desperate to break the hold the sociopathic psychologist had on them, neither one of them was thinking about where their actions were leading them.

Michael had already stepped over the line so many times Sam was afraid it was becoming a habit. He had lied to his agency contact, _again_ , a woman they all considered a friend to get his top-secret clearance reinstated. He had then used that clearance to break into the CIA computers and hide Anson's identity. And now he had given that man access to enough money to do anything he wanted. Each time he did one of these jobs, Michael couldn't seem to grasp the fact that he was just placing himself further under Anson's thumb.

However, Fiona was no better. She veered from wanting to shoot Anson and then go on the run, to wanting to take her chances and hand herself in to the FBI. This latest attempt, convincing Michael that the love of his life was dead in order to free him to act, was even more foolish than her other plans and way more chancy.

Sam could admit he was just as frustrated as she was. He hated to see his best friend being manipulated into becoming traitor. But he dreaded the day coming when Michael Westen finally lost his soul... No, this, this was a dangerous path they were all on. He knew what Michael was capable of doing or rather becoming. There was a very good reason why Larry Sizemore had kept trying to renew his association with his former protégé.

And if Michael's old persona, the man who had cut a bloody path through large parts of Russia and the Republic of Serbia in the early nineties, was let out of the box and left free to act, what would happen when he discovered the very people he should have been able to trust had manipulated him so cruelly?

At that moment, Michael let out a soft whimper and began to shift in his sleep. Pushing back his concerns, Sam got to his feet and started preparing for the moment his friend finally opened his eyes. Switching the laptop back on, he made a quick trip to the bathroom and then went to see what Michael had in the way of breakfast foods in the refrigerator.

He wanted this whole sorry mess to be over and done with as soon as possible and he was silently praying to God that this time the good guys could catch a lucky break.

 **()()()()()**

Pain, mind numbing thumping pain, tore Michael from his restless sleep and, when he raised his head off the pillow, a wave of nausea inducing dizziness sent his stomach into full-fledged rebellion. All of a sudden, he was running desperately for the bathroom with a hand over his mouth, hoping he was going to make it in time.

Collapsing down in front of the toilet, he emptied nearly a full bottle of scotch from his protesting stomach. All the while shudders ran up and down his spine and his head continued to pound away as if there was somebody with a jack hammer trying to break out of his skull.

When he finally stopped retching, he pulled himself wearily up on to his feet and moved over to the sink to wash his mouth out. Standing up, he stared straight ahead and caught sight of his reflection in the small shaving mirror attached to the wall in front of him. A cold chill ran through his body as he stared into the lifeless eyes of a stranger and at that moment it all came flooding back.

 _She was gone._

The last time he had seen her, she had still been angry with him for not letting her kill Anson... And now she was dead. He dropped his head down, watching the water from the tap circle the bottom of the sink before disappearing down the drain.

" _When is this going to end, Michael?"_

His head jerked up and the same cold-eyed man with the blank expression stared back at him.

"Fi…" Her name tumbled from his throat in a strangled whisper and tears welled in his eyes.

Gulping, sniffing and wiping furiously at his eyes, Michael pushed down the crush of emotions trying to tear him down. Slowly everything stilled, he breathed deeply through his nose as he stored away all the pain and grief. Letting his eyelids close, he resisted the urge to scream as he let go of the image of his girlfriend, _his_ Fiona, lying dead and bloody all alone in a foreign country.

When he opened his eyes and stared at the reflection of the man staring back at him, his fingers curled into tight hard fists and then with an animalistic snarl one of those fists flew and the mirror shattered.

 _NO!_

He couldn't let himself fall into grief. He _had_ to maintain control, he owed it to her. An icy cold cloak settled around him, seeping through his skin and into his veins, cooling the burning desire to kill. Now, he felt nothing. Last night, his heart had been ripped out and now all that was left was an empty shell. He stared at his blood covered knuckles and felt absolutely nothing at all.

"Mikey?" A hand pounded on the bathroom door and, a second later, the cheap piece of wood was jerked open. "Hey, brother, what are you doin'?"

He saw Sam Axe standing in the doorway and stared straight through him, ignoring his best friend as if he wasn't there. Wrapping a cold wash cloth over his already swelling hand, Michael pushed by the older man and walked towards the kitchen.

"Mike? C'mon, Mikey, talk to me."

Michael reached down to the cupboard under the sink and he came up with the remaining bottle of scotch. He needed something to keep him numb, to stop him from getting lost in a sea of emotions he wasn't trained to handle. If he could just stop himself flying apart until…

" _How many lives are ya willing ta destroy, Michael? How many people will ya leave bleedin' at tha side o' tha road ta save me?"_

He twisted off the cap and lifted the bottle to his lips. He needed to numb his brain. There was nothing to think about; he knew what he had to do. A quick glance at his watch told him he had plenty of time to finish his drink and then prepare to end it all.

"Ah-ah, fella not going to happen..." Without any more warning, Sam snatched the booze from his friend's hand and hurled the alcohol into the sink. "Look, I know you feel like crap and I'm sorry. But you have a meeting with Pearce in a coupla hours and turning up drunk and bloody ain't gonna fly."

"And I told you to leave." The ice in his veins was filling up the dark space where is heart had been. Everything around him felt wrong, flat and disconnected.

"Well, lucky for you, I'm not taking orders right now... Sit down and let me clean up that hand and then I'll tell you all about Anson's warehouse in Tampa." This was no-nonsense Commander Axe speaking and, to make his point, he pulled out one of the stools in front of the counter and pushed his friend down onto it.

"I'm not goin' anywhere near Pearce or the CIA," Michael declared, staring across at the sink and the remains of the empty bottle laying in a pool of amber liquid. "And unless _you_ can _promise_ me Anson is in Tampa, I'm not interested in _any_ warehouse." His lips thinned in barely suppressed anger, yet he remained where Sam had pushed him and didn't fight the older man as he carefully started to pull splinters of glass out of his blood-soaked hand,

"I can't promise you we'll find Anson in Tampa. But will you at least listen to what I have to say?" Sam wiped away the blood and, once he was sure he had got all the glass, he slapped a dressing over his friend's knuckles and frowned when he got no reaction. "Mike, c'mon, don't zone out on me here. Listen, I promise you won't be disappointed."

"Fine, get on with it," Michael snapped back.

"Alrighty then, I hadda look at the account details F - Jes- _We_ got from Anson's Cayman Island accounts. And I tell ya, brother, I couldn't make any headway... So, in the end, I thought who do we know sneaky enough to work it out for us? And a couple of hours ago, our spiky haired friend Barry sent me this."

He held out a thin manila file, but when Michael showed no interest, he sighed and opened it himself. "Barry worked on this all night. He managed to trace a few mil through half a dozen shells corporations to a Chinese brokerage account and finally, while most of it went to a DC law firm, several smaller chunks were used to pay for the rent on a large warehouse in Tampa and have it rigged with some very high end electronic security set ups. So, before running off to break into that lawyers' office, I'm thinking the place in Tampa might be worth a look see. What do you think?"

Michael let out a long drawn out sigh. He knew from experience Sam was not going to leave him alone or let him sit and get drunk.

"I'll go to Tampa," he agreed, but then fixed the former SEAL with his cold stare. "But Pearce, and the CIA – forget it... I'm going to take care of Anson myself and then I'm done."

"You can't do this by yourself, Mikey. This bastard… I spent most of the night going through everything you've got on him and, I tell ya, he's got angles like I've never seen. Just when you think you've gotta handle on him, he slips away... I mean, what are you gonna do? Just go by his office? The security at the DIA is pretty tight."

"I'm gonna do whatever it takes," Michael replied coldly. "I'm not going to let a couple of security guards stop me."

Sam frowned and shifted forward until he was almost nose to nose with his friend. _This was precisely what he had been dreading_. "This is what I'm saying, brother. You're not thinking clearly. Can you hear yourself? You're talkin' about shootin' a couple of guys for just doing their job. There are smarter ways of getting' this done."

" _You always do the right thing... Do the right thing for me."_

Her voice rang softly in his ear, pleading with him, and it brought a lump to his throat. He wanted to shout at her, make her understand that everything he had done had all been for her, to keep her safe. But it was too late.

"So, what's your plan, Mikey? You kill Anson and then what? Fiona's reputation is still damaged and you're being hunted down as a murderer, a criminal. How does that help anyone? Your mom's gonna get dragged in for questioning. She'll have news vans on the front lawn twenty-four seven with them all wanting to know about her son, the traitor. Is that what you want?"

Sam's voice was slowly chipping away at the ice wall Michael had put up around his heart and, all of a sudden, it was more than he could bear.

" _What I want?_ You think I wanted _any_ of this?" He was on his feet, the stool he had been sitting on flung half way across the room. "I want her back... I _don't care_ about the rest."

He turned away, making his way out onto the balcony. Whether it was the morning humidity, the raging hangover or just pure and simple grief, he had no idea. But he just felt the need to get out, get away from everyone and everything.

" _Aye, yer good at leavin' aren't ya?"_ The accusation had sounded so clear and so full of the same bitterness that he thought she was there.

A wave of grief washed over him, tearing through his whole body, leaving every nerve raw. He wanted to scream out that he wasn't leaving, not this time. Then, out of the blue, his mother's face came to him, her anger at what had happened to her family, what Anson and Management, had done to her, taken from her.

"You think what we've got is enough?" He turned, standing framed in the double doors which led outside, his arms folded defensively across his chest. "There's nothing there that ties Anson solidly to a crime."

"It will give Pearce a good place to start," Sam replied carefully. "And while she's going through all that, it frees you up to check out the leads we've got. We're about the change the game on him, brother." He smiled. "He's not going to know what's hit him."

" _If_ Pearce will listen to me. I mean, when she finds out what I've done, that I lied to her, Sam..."

"She'll listen. I've made sure she'll listen, but it's gonna be up to you to convince her you're on the level this time."

 **()()()()()**

Senior Agent Dani Pearce sat at her desk, her long slim fingers idly tapping a beat on the wood veneer top of her desk. Staring out through the horizontal blinds which covered the large interior window in front of her, she could see the figure of the man she was waiting for stride into the outer office.

She could see how tired he looked and the usual confident toothy smile he liked to flash at the office staff was absent. She knew she should be angry with him, that she should have arranged to have a tactical team on standby to arrest him as soon as he stepped into the building. But instead she was going to listen to what he had to say and try to understand his explanation for his actions.

As he neared her door, she got up and pulled the blinds all the way down and altered the angle of the slats to ensure they had some privacy. The box he was carrying in his hands looked full and rather heavy, but it was nothing compared to the files she had dug up after her early morning conversation with Jesse Porter.

 _The former CIFA officer had approached mid-way through her early morning run, stepping out onto the dirt pathway in front of her just after she had rounded a tight corner. Coming to an abrupt halt, her hand had automatically reached for the handle of her government issue side-arm concealed under her loose-fitting top._

" _Jesse? You should know better than to come up on somebody out here! What do you want? What's happened?" At the time, she had known it had to do with Michael Westen, only it wasn't the news she had expected to hear._

" _We have to talk." He had taken hold of her arm and urged her to step off the trail and into a secluded spot amongst the trees and bushes which lined the path._

 _Only the intensity in his dark brown eyes and the look of desperation etched into his features had stopped her from telling him if he wanted to talk, he should call her first. Placing her hands on her hips, she'd stared back at him, trying to ignore the line of sweat she could feel running down her back._

" _Well, spill it, Jesse. What can't wait until after breakfast?"_

 _He had sighed, looked down at his feet and then, just as she had been about to make a comment about him wasting her time, he had spoken in a voice so quiet that she hadn't been sure if she heard him correctly._

" _Fiona Glenanne is dead."_

" _What? How? Did Michael send you?" The words had spilled from her mouth as she took in the news that her newest CIA asset had lost probably the most important person in his life._

" _It's– complicated." He'd bit down on his bottom lip, mirroring her own stance with his hands on his hips. "Look, I came to find you, because Mike is gonna come into see you this morning and I wanted to give you a heads up, so you'll understand where he's coming from."_

" _Jesse, why would you think I wouldn't understand? He should take time off-" She had been reaching for her cell phone, intent on calling the man in question and tell him to take as much time as he needed when Jesse's hand had closed about her wrist._

" _No, like I said, it's complicated. I have something to tell you before you talk to him... It's important." At the time, she had thought it strange the way he kept looking around as if he was scared he was being watched._

 _By the time he had told her what had been going on under her nose, she had been furious._

The sharp knock on her door brought her out of her thoughts and she moved back round to her seat. She needed to be sitting down for this meeting. "Come in, Westen," she called out.

When he entered, she withheld a gasp. She had thought he looked tired when she had seen him from a distance, but close up Michael Westen looked dreadful. Even with his sunglasses on, it was possible to see his grief and the sense of loss etched into his features. Closing the door behind him, he carefully placed the box he was carrying on her desk next to the files she had already stacked up there.

"Take a seat, Michael." At the sight of him looking so broken, Dani found her anger diminishing. She remembered what it felt like to lose a loved one to a violent act and she knew Fiona Glenanne had been a big part of his life for over a decade and half.

"You've spoken to Je—" he swallowed and looked away. "Porter." He spoke as if his friend's name left a bad taste in his mouth.

His inability to speak Jesse's name caused her to pause and frown, wondering what had happened between the two men. Jesse had been vague about how Fiona had lost her life and now Michael's reaction was leading her think there was more than met the eye to the whole situation.

"Yes, he told me what happened. I'm sorry for your loss, she -"

"I don't want your sympathy, Agent Pearce." His attitude changed in an instant as he leaned towards her. "I want to know if you're going to help me bring down Anson Fullerton."

She could feel his anger. If he was an official employee, she would have ordered him to take compassion leave. But not only was Westen a private contractor, she knew he would not listen any way. Now that Jesse had given her all the details and, from what she had already been able to confirm herself, she had no choice. She had to go along and do her best to keep him acting within the law.

" _Mike only did what he did because he was trying to keep Fiona out of jail. You have to believe me. Fiona would not have planted a bomb and killed innocent people. You've checked her out, you know how good she is. She used one bomb to take out this guy Larry. He was Michael's partner back in the day. He had already killed an innocent woman and he was threatening to kill Mike. If you read the FBI file, you'll see two completely different bombs were used, different explosives and triggers. What bomb-maker uses two different chemical signatures and different wiring techniques?"_

 _Jesse's argument had convinced her that Fullerton needed looking into, but she had still been furious. Westen had sat in front of her and lied, he had lied every time they spoke, he had breached CIA security and used a virus to wipe out data on a dangerous criminal. And now Jesse had admitted to helping Fiona Glenanne circumvent a flagged account to release the man's money._

" _You should all be locked up for the rest of your lives." The slap which had landed on Jesse's cheek had left a hand print and rocked his head to the side. But instead of backing away, he had moved closer, his large hands cupping her shoulders with just enough grip to keep her still. He was right inside her personal space and her heart rate was rocketing as she looked up at him._

" _So, we've made mistakes." He'd looked down at her, sincerity glowing in his eyes as he pleaded with her to understand. "He loves her and was only trying to protect her, we all were. She doesn't deserve jail for killing a man like Larry Sizemore. I never knew him, but I know he strapped a bomb to a woman's neck and blew her head off just to make a point."_

 _As she had listened to him, she had flash-backed to the murder of her fiancée, murdered because some CIA officers wanted to close a case as quickly as possible. She knew if she ever found out who had killed him, even after all these years, she would do whatever she could to get justice for her dead lover._

" _Please, Dani. You're our only hope. Mike needs to know if he brings Anson in, the guy will pay for what he has done. He needs somebody in the CIA to listen to him."_

Agent Dani Pearce sat up straight in her chair and looked straight into her asset's eyes, her features set in deadly serious lines. Speaking in a coldly authoritative tone, she gave him her answer.

"One last chance, Westen, and from now on I'm running things. We do this by book or not at all."

Michael nodded grimly. One last chance, that's all he needed.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** _This is the second part of the 6.01 premiere AU that was originally posted as Chapter 5 in "Puppies, Kittens and Gun Toting Babies."_

 _()()()()()()_

 **6.01 AU – This is My Island in the Sun - Part 2**

 _An alternate for Season Six and beyond following on from 5.16 – Depth Perception_

 _()()()()()()_

 _Miami 2012_

Sam Axe woke up with a start as the trunk of the Charger suddenly slammed shut with a loud thud and then, while he was still pulling himself together, the driver's side door swung open and a stony-faced spy slumped down behind the wheel.

"Hey, Mikey, I was beginning to think you'd dumped me and sneaked outta the back door." His light-hearted comment was greeted by a thinning of Michael's lips and a scowl.

"So, what did the boss lady have to say? I mean, you've been gone forever, brother."

"She's willing to help." Michael answered flatly as he started up the muscle car. "I've just spent the last three hours going through _everything_ _we_ know about Anson Fullerton." He didn't mention the part where Agent Pearce had torn into him for all the lies he'd told before finally calming down and agreeing to assist them. "She cleared us going to Tampa to check out the warehouse while she investigates the DC lawyers." He cast a glance over to his friend. "She's also gonna put a surveillance detail on Anson, so we'll know where he is and what he's up to."

"You sure _that's_ a good idea? I mean, he's a sneaky sonuvabitch. _If_ he realizes he's being watched..."

"That's what _I_ said," Michael huffed. "But she insisted. She _promised_ they'll stay back and watch from a distance... Pearce said she wants to know where he is at all times, so as soon as we have something to pin on him, she can bring him in."

"Hey, that's great, isn't it?" Sam aimed to point out the positive, but Michael was no longer listening to him.

The grieving spy drove as if he had nothing to lose, speeding through the mid-day Miami traffic and out onto the I-75 heading north and eventually west towards Tampa. Soon enough they were on that stretch of road which cut through the northern end of the Everglades better known as Alligator Alley. For a while, Sam tried to draw his friend into talking about what Agent Pearce had had to say during their meeting, but all he got in return for his questions was a scowl and the sound of the Charger's engine increasing in speed. Finally, he took the hint and stopped talking.

Sam wasn't too worried by the spy's taciturnity. He knew exactly how Michael's mind worked and knew that, for the time being. the younger man wasn't prepared to listen to anything he had to say, so he settled down to wait.

The long boring drive to Tampa under normal circumstance could take anywhere between four and a half to five hours depending on the traffic ahead. That was plenty of time to work on getting Michael's head back in the game. However, as they began to flash by more and more vehicles, it was becoming clear to Sam that his friend was shooting to half the travel time and, if he didn't say something soon, they would be very lucky not to attract the attention of a deputy sheriff or even worse the FHP.

"Something up, Mike?" Sam sat upright in his seat and for the first time clipped his seatbelt on.

"Yeah, I think we've picked up tail... Three cars back, a blue Taurus with tinted glass. It's keeping at least two vehicles between us at all times, but whatever I do it stays there."

Sam twisted around and peered back. The car following them looked pretty nondescript and traffic along this part of the road was usually thin, making the tail stand out more readily now that Michael had pointed it out. It was easy to see as the Charger changed lanes or altered its speed that the Taurus stayed with them, though never getting close enough for them to get a good look at the driver.

"Maybe Pearce has somebody keeping an eye on us?" Sam suggested doubtfully.

"Yeah and maybe Anson knows Fiona is - gone and he's watching to see what I do," Michael countered.

"So, what are _we_ gonna to do?"

Michael took a moment to think and then all of a sudden eased his foot back off the gas pedal. "We're coming up on the exit for Naples. I'll pull off and see if I can lose them."

Sam took a long look at his friend's profile, seeing the tension in Michael's jaw as he glanced into his rearview mirror at the car following behind them.

"And if we can't? What are you thinking about here, Mike?"

"Don't worry about it, Sam... Get Pearce on the line and find out if she sent a babysitter to watch over us."

While Sam called Agent Pearce, Michael began to drive like an idiot: indicating left and then turning right, taking too long at junctions and then suddenly pulling out into the smallest of gaps, slowing down at traffic lights only to speed through at the last minute, using every trick he could think off to shake off the blue sedan.

"Well, she says whoever they are, they're not CIA... Oh, and Anson has been chairing a department meeting since nine o clock this morning, so it's doubtful he's involved. We need to do something fast here, Mike. I'm a little thin on cop buddies on this coast. If we get pulled over…"

"Okay then." Michael suddenly slammed on the brakes, bringing the Charger to a sharp stop. Grabbing his gun, he was out of the vehicle before Sam had a chance to react.

"Jeez, Mike, gimme a warning next time." He struggled to unclip the seatbelt and at the same time draw his own gun before following his friend into the open.

They watched as the Taurus came to a halt and then rapidly reverse back before performing a handbrake turn and driving away.

"So, what now?" Sam asked, slipping his gun back into his waistband.

Michael continued to stare after the car, his eyes fixed on the path it had taken.

"Mike?" Sam called out. "Hey, buddy? "

The younger man startled, but instantly composed himself. "Sam, did you see...?" He shook his head in disbelief. "It doesn't matter... Let's get going."

Back in the car, Michael drove around Naples for another twenty minutes just to make sure whoever had been following them was gone and hadn't been replaced by someone else.

Meanwhile, Sam stared out of his window, watching the store fronts and houses as they passed by. He had seen the driver of the Taurus just as well as Michael had, a female shape with long hair, her features obscured by the tint of the wind shield and, just like Michael, he had spotted the similarities to a certain little psychotic former IRA terrorist.

 _What the hell was she doing?_ Sam thought furiously about Michael's supposedly dead girlfriend. _If anybody spotted her... It would be bad enough if Mike got a clear look, but what if Anson discovered the truth? Or Dani? If Dani thought for one minute Mike was playing her again... Dammit, Tinkerbell!_

It was only when Michael brought the Charger to a stop and switched off the engine that Sam was jerked out of his reverie and realized he had been lost in his thoughts for the last two hours.

"You have a good nap there, Sam?" Michael groused.

"Yeah, I did. Thanks for askin', Mikey." he grinned back, thankful that his friend hadn't realized the real reason for his inattention.

Going around to the trunk, Sam looked on with interest as Michael brought out a large case. "So what have you got here?"

"Pearce thought we could use some CIA toys. We've got tasers, a thermal camera, a circular saw fitted with a state of the art silencer and a copy of the blue prints of the building."

Sam leaned in and pulled out two large rolls of climbing rope. "And these?"

"I was planning on mentioning that. Going off the blue prints, the walls have been reinforced with steel, so the best way in looks to be through the roof."

Sam sighed, " _Great_ …So, we're gonna climb up on top, without being seen, and then what? Cut a hole in the ceiling and drop in?"

"That's about it, Sam. Unless you want to wait outside while I deal with any of Anson's guys waiting inside."

Sam caught the hopeful note in his friend's voice and shook his head. "Nope, Mike, I'm going in with you, buddy." He pointed to the notes written down on the edge of the blueprints. "See this? Didn't think I'd bother reading all those little scribbles, did ya? The place was used by its previous owner for storing military tech, weapons and high explosives. If Anson's using it to store his artillery, I'm not about to let you go in there _all_ by yourself with guns blazing, Forget it, brother."

They spent the next few hours watching the warehouse from a distance, but learning little more than what they already knew. The place remained quiet with nobody coming or going. From the outside to the untrained eye, the building looked abandoned. The cracked and crumbling outer walls were covered by faded graffiti and the land surrounding the property was overgrown and unkempt. But what gave it away was the shiny new chain link fence topped with razor wire and, when they used a set of binoculars, it was possible to make out a brand new keypad lock on the reinforced steel doors.

Michael, looked at his watch and then at the darkening sky before answering stiffly. "We'll go in after dark. You can give me a boost onto the roof and then I'll tie off a rope so you can climb up."

"Oh, we just _go in_. It's gonna be that easy, huh?"

"No, Sam, it's not. What I'd like to do is smash through the gates and storm the place. But I _can't_ do that, _can I_? Because it all has to be legal or Pearce will just throw my ass in jail along with Anson's," came the bitter retort.

Sam put a hand to his mouth to disguise how secretly pleased he was. Not only was Dani Pearce doing what he had hoped she would by putting Michael on a short leash, but at least for now his friend wasn't fighting against the restrictions placed on him.

"Hey, look, I know it's not the same as busting down the doors, but the thermal imaging camera will help us see who's in there and how many. And this way you'll have someone alive at the end to question," Sam pointed out, trying to brighten the mood.

It was a starless, pitch black night and as silent as the grave when they cut a hole in the chain link fence and moved swiftly towards the building with Sam following in Michael's stealthy footsteps. A quick check around the outside of the warehouse and then, with a boost to get him as high as possible, Michael managed to find a couple of hand holds and haul himself onto the roof.

Tying off one of the lengths of rope, he kept watch while Sam scaled the side of the worn looking structure, carrying the case of equipment on his back.

Then, using the thermal camera, Michael slowly walked around the roof, making sure he knew who was inside the building and where they were.

"There's a single man inside." Michael kept his voice low. "He's sitting at the far end, watching TV." He pointed to a space about ten feet away from where the guard was relaxing. "There's a solid wall, here. We breech on the other side, we should be in and on him before he knows what hit him."

Sam nodded and brought out the circular saw. "Okey, dokey, you keep an eye on the guard while I make the hole."

The saw made quick work of the roof and the two men dropped through the hole silently. Moving like the skilled, experienced team they were, they quickly made their way over to the door which separated them from the guard, who was too busy watching TV to be doing his job properly.

After making sure the door wasn't alarmed in any way, Michael went through fast with the taser at the ready. By the time Sam joined his friend, the guard was laying on the floor convulsing.

"Well, that went well," the former SEAL commented, as he leaned down to remove the prongs stuck into their prisoner's shirt and secure the man's hands behind his back. "Easy peasy, huh?"

"Sure, Sam, help me get this guy up and I'll find out what he knows while you take a look round."

Sam paused, studying the spy's cool emotionless expression. "Okay, but remember Pearce is going to want him in one piece."

Leaving Michael to find out how much the security guard knew about his employer and what he was guarding, Sam set off to have a look around. Within half an hour he was back, barely able to believe Anson had been so lax.

"Hey, Mikey. look at this." He was dragging a trolley overloaded with samples of the goods being stored. "We have C4, T4, det cord, timer switches, nine milimeter rounds, fifty cal cartridges... You realize if any of this matches what was used in the bombing of the consulate, Fi'll will be in the clear."

" _Woulda_ been in the clear, Sam," Michael corrected him, his face a mask of sorrow. He held out a pile of documents. "Here's a list of everything that Anson has in here and the names of the shipping companies and the bank accounts he's been using."

"Alrighty then," Sam beamed. "Let's gather up as much as we can and get out of here. I'll call Pearce and she can send a team to clear the rest of this stuff up." He added the documents to the top of the stacked up boxes on the trolley. "

"What about me?" The security guard piped up. "I answered all your questions. You've gotta let me go."

"You're gonna be spending a lotta time answering somebody else's questions," the older man informed him. "That is unless of course you wanna be dropped in some deep dark hole and never be heard from again."

The guy paled and shook his head. "I can't go with you. Anson is crazy, he'll kill me. Hell, if he finds out you've been here, he'll kill you, too. The guy is a class A paranoid. He made it very clear if I ever let anybody in, _or_ try to take anything outta here, even so much as a paper clip, I'm a dead man."

"You don't have a choice." The dark haired man pointed his gun in the guy's face, pressing the end of the barrel in between his eyes.

"Look, fella, I don't want to shoot ya -" Sam came over and gently pushed Michael's hand down until the barrel was pointed at the floor. "But this man here does, so it's in your best interests to do exactly what he says."

"You don't understand, Anson is tracking this stuff. As soon as your guys start taking it out, he'll know."

"Sam, what do you think?"

"Well, you can stick trackers on anything nowadays, so it sounds like a play Anson would make and it explains the lack of security." He gave the guard a knowing look. "But we can't leave it all behind and we can't hang around here all night waiting for a team to get here. So I say we take our chances, Pearce has a detail watching Anson. If he tries anything, he'll get picked up quick enough." Sam shrugged and pushed the trolley towards the doors.

"Wait," Michael called out. "Let's _not_ take any chances. We'll take all the paperwork and samples of the explosives, enough for them to start running tests, and go out the way we came in. Pearce can send her people in to collect the rest."

"You wanna climb back onto the roof? Really, Mike?"

"Really, Sam."

"You heard the man, buddy," he replied, cuffing their prisoner on the shoulder and turning him towards the ropes dangling from the hole in the ceiling. "Upsy daisy you go."

Once they were safely out of the building and Sam and the security guard were off the roof, Michael paused. Ever since he had seen all the weapons, ammunition and explosives stored in the warehouse, he had been thinking about all the death and destruction these things could cause if somehow Anson Fullerton managed to weasel himself out of going to trial or, worse yet, if the psychologist wasn't the last man left.

Ignoring Sam's hissed calls to hurry up and his queries into what the hell he was doing, the spy attached a piece of det cord to a small piece of C4. Then, in one swift move, he lit the cord and threw it back into the building and an instant later rappelled quickly to the ground below.

"Run!" he urged, taking off without another word.

The three men were thrown to the ground by the force of the explosion and their clothing singed by the fireball which followed.

Sitting up, Sam patted out the smouldering material of his cargo pants. "What the hell, Mikey?!" he yelled, his face suffused with shock and anger.

Michael, who had been the only one who had known what was about to happen, was already back on his feet. "I couldn't risk Anson or anybody else getting their hands on any of that stuff. Besides, it sends him a message."

"I thought –?"

"Well, _you_ thought wrong. I'm doing this _my_ way... Pearce can have all the evidence; she can even have Anson after I'm done with him, but first I'm gonna make him suffer for what he's done to me," Michael spat back.

Sam reeled at the venom in his best friend's tone and his heart sunk as he realized the moment he had feared was finally coming to past. Michael had done exactly what he said he would. He had checked out Anson's warehouse and now he was going after the man himself.

"Mike, hey Mikey, calm down." Sam caught hold of his friend's arm to stop him from leaving. "At least help me get this guy and all the evidence we've got to Pearce. We get back to Miami and I'll help you go after Anson. But we've gotta do this right, you've gotta give Pearce a chance to build a case against the bastard."

For a second, he thought the younger man was going to storm off. But, as suddenly as the anger had flared, it was gone. "Okay..." Michael nodded solemnly. "We get back to Miami, hand all this in and _then_ I'm gone."

Sam pursed his lips and then cocked his head to the side. Far off in the distance, but rapidly getting closer, he could see the glimmer of flashing bright lights and hear the faint wail of distance sirens belonging to the emergency vehicles coming their way.

"We'll talk about this later, brother," Sam replied stiffly. "I think we should go _now_ before we end up having to answer a lot of awkward questions."

 **()()**

This time Michael let Sam drive while he laid his head back and closed his eyes. He would have liked to have gotten some sleep, but there was no way that was going to happen. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see her there waiting for him and his whole being ached to join her. For now the only thing keeping him going was the thought of revenge.

His mom would be fine. She had Nate and the newest addition to the Westen family, little Charlie, to dote on. Besides hadn't he caused her enough pain? If Anson was to believed, it was because of him that his dad was dead and then there was Benny. He hadn't liked the guy, but that didn't mean he had wanted him dead. No, he was pretty sure his family wouldn't miss him. He remembered the slap to his face and the look in his mom's eyes when she ordered him from the house. He could still feel the imprint, even though it had happened days ago.

Then there was Sam. His best friend had found his ideal woman in Elsa Dearbon. But if he continued to hang out with him, Michael knew his best friend would lose the love of his life just as surely as he had lost Fiona.

 _You don't get to have it all, the job and the girl._ After all these years, Tom Strickler had been proven right.

He chewed on the knuckles of one hand, wishing for all the world that he had a bottle of scotch in his hand right now. He was on the verge of telling Sam to pull over so he could take over the driving. Alligator Alley was long, flat, mind numbingly boring and, in the pre-dawn darkness, there was nothing out there to offer anything in the way of a distraction.

"Sam," he spoke softly and then, before he could continue, his phone began to ring.

"Michael…" As soon as he heard his name spoken in that soft calm voice, he felt a tidal wave of anger rise up and threaten to drown him. His hand shook as he reached out to tap his friend's arm, mouthing, _"It's Anson,"_ when Sam looked round.

"What do you want?" Michael asked, somehow managing to stay calm, even though under the surface he was raging.

"That was quite the disaster at my warehouse tonight, Michael. I thought we had an understanding. I thought I was very clear about actions having consequences."

"Warehouse?" he asked innocently, determined that it wouldn't be him who lost his temper during this exchange.

"Don't play me for a fool, Michael. I know it was you," Anson replied, his tone that of someone scolding an unruly child.

"Well, in that case, I guess it's over and I'll see you in hell." _So much for remaining calm…_

"No, Michael, it isn't over. Poor Fiona may have died, but you have other friends – and family too."

"I swear, if you -"

"Yes, yes, _you're_ going to hunt me down. That's why I'm calling, I'm not sure hunting me down should be your first priority."

"Oh, really? Because as of right now, you're my _only_ priority."

Sam had managed to pull the car over and, as soon as the Charger came to a stop, Michael was out of his seat, pacing back and forth.

"No, Michael, you're wrong. You have a far more pressing problem... Daryl Jordan, he's a former patient of mine and an ex-army ranger. I treated him for paranoid schizophrenia. He needed a focus for his violence impulses, so I suggested you. He's on his way to Daytona Beach right now as we speak to address his issues."

Michael felt a cold chill run down his spine. _The bastard was threatening his whole family._ "I _swear_ I'm going to dedicate my life into finding you and making you pay!" He snarled into the phone, all pretence of self-control ripped away as the DIA psychologist played with his heart and mind.

"Thinking positively, still focused on your goals I see… But coming after me is only going to cause you more pain, Michael. If you drive on through the night, you _may_ make it in time to save your family. You've already lost Fiona. Do you want to risk losing your mommy, too?"

Michael stared at his cell phone as Anson ended the call. His head was spinning. He looked at Sam, his features stricken. "He's sent psychopath after my family. He knows they're in Daytona… What am I gonna do?"

Without another word, he turned away, staggering further along the side of the road and then bent forward at the waist, as his stomach clenched and bile rose up in his throat. Once he had emptied his stomach, Michael slowly straightened and took a several deep breaths as he took back control. He had pushed and now Anson had pushed right back. He understood clearly now. This was never going to end until one of them was dead.

"Sam, call Pearce. Let her know you'll be bringing in a witness and what we took from the warehouse." He was already glancing up and down the pitch black road trying to get his bearing. "At the next rest stop, you're gonna let me out and I'm going to find a car and head over to Daytona. Hopefully I can get there before -"

Sam was at his side, a large hand resting lightly on his shoulder. "Mike, use your head, you're not thinking clearly. There _are no_ rest stops out here. We need to get this guy into CIA custody. He's the key to the evidence on Anson."

Michael could see the outline of the man's head in the rear glass of the Charger and the small portion of road that its headlights illuminated and reason started to penetrate his mind as he fought against the urge race towards the threat against his family. Sam was right. He was going to have to work with the CIA on this or it all was going to have been for nothing.

"Mike, are you listening to me? _You_ make the call to Pearce while I drive. Tell her to send some men over to Nate's place and call the local PD. She can get people over there quicker than you can drive. She can also order her guys to bring in Anson now that he's made threats against your family…You've got him, brother." He patted his friend on the arm and then escorted the shaken spy back to the Charger. "Think about it. If he's calling you, trying to convince you to back off, it means he's scared. Get in, Mikey, and start dialling, I'll get us back to Miami."

 **()()()()()**

The buzzing and clattering noise of her cell phone vibrating its way across the bedside table woke Dani Pearce with a start. Following up a loud groan, she sat up letting the covers fall away from her body as she reached out to pick up the offending piece of technology.

Seeing the name displayed on the face of her cell, all signs of annoyance disappeared.

"Michael," she spoke as soon as she accepted the call. "What are you doing calling at this time -?"

"I just got a call from Anson. He knows we've been in his warehouse. He's sent an ex-Ranger with anger management issues after my family. They're staying in a rental at Daytona Beach. You have to get somebody there, _now._ "

Shaking her head as she tried to make sense of what he was saying, she got out of bed and reached for her discarded clothing.

"Calm down, Michael. Where are you?" She smiled briefly as Jesse handed her the garments she was searching for. "Anson called you?" She looked at the clock beside his bed and frowned when she saw it was three AM.

"He's on the move, Dani. You have to tell your team to bring him in and get somebody over to Daytona to protect my family... I'm sending you the address now."

"Let me make some calls. I'll get back to you soon." When Michael hung up without another word, she pressed down on the key to bring up a list of contact numbers and began scrolling through looking for the name she needed.

"What's going on?" Jesse asked, as he continued to pull on his clothes. "Mike in trouble?"

"Yes – maybe... I need to make some calls," she replied. Reaching over, she switched on the bedroom light to make it easier to see what she was doing. "Can you make some coffee? I think we're going to need it."

Before he could answer, her first call was answered. "Agent Lange? It's Pearce, bring in Fullerton now. Yes, now. Do not let him make any calls, secure his home and do a thorough sweep. I want him sitting in an interrogation room within the hour."

She quickly threw on the same clothes she had been wearing the day before, while she tried to come up with somebody she could call to deal with Michael's second request. She was no further along when her cell rang again.

"Ma'am, this is Agent Lange... I don't know how he did it, but Anson Fullerton is gone. We're searching the apartment now, but it looks pretty clean."

Dani stiffened and took a breath. "He got away? He's a psychologist! How did you lose him? I want him found _now_. Tear his place apart. Get the film from every traffic cam within a five mile radius."

"Ma'am, I -"

"Get on with it, Lange! Call me back within the hour with some progress."

Doing her best to maintain control, she left the bedroom and went searching for her shoes in the living room.

"So are you going to fill me in?" Jesse handed her the small cup filled with a strong black coffee.

"Michael and Sam are on their way back from Tampa. But somehow Fullerton found out what they've been up to and he's threatened Westen's family. _Now_ my surveillance team informs me that he managed to sneak past them, too. How the hell did he got by somebody like Rebecca Lange I will never know!"

As she spoke, she paced restlessly. "Oh, and Westen wants me to send a protection detail to Daytona to keep his family safe from some psychopath Anson has sent after them only _I don't_ have anybody to send." She stopped walking long enough to sip down the bitter brew in her hand.

"I know somebody in Daytona," Jesse announced. Bringing out his cell, he made for the door leading out onto the third floor apartment's balcony. "Give me second, let me make a call."

Standing outside, Jesse stared down at his phone. It was risk, if anybody saw her... But if Michael lost his family because they had pushed him into acting against Anson, Jesse didn't think he would be able to forgive himself. Without another thought, he dialed the emergency number.

"Hey, it's me. We have a problem…. Yeah, you were right… Anson put a hit out on Maddy and Nate… " As angry as he had been when he discovered Fiona was back, sneaking around Miami, trying to keep tabs on Michael, he had to admit her decision to travel up to Daytona in anticipation of an attack on the the Westen clan had been the right call.

"No, no intel on what's inbound other than it's whacked...yeah, I know you can handle it... Take care and - um –stay safe."

Ending the call, he looked up to see Dani watching him expectantly. "Okay, that's covered, but you still need to call in Daytona PD for back up and to take charge of this huge slice of crazy when-."

"Who –?" Dani jumped on his hesitation.

"A bounty hunter we use sometimes." Jesse replied vaguely. "Please, Dani, just tell the boys in blue to keep their eyes open for friendlies and don't shoot first."

"Fine," she agreed. "But you better hope your friend doesn't cause any incidents because every one of my bosses will line up to kick me for officially using unofficial personnel if this—"

The tall man cupped her shoulders with his large hands and leaned down to kiss her, effectively cutting off her argument. It started slowly and built in passion, until gasping for breath they pulled apart.

"Trust me, Dani," he requested.

With the rest of her calls made, including one to Michael warning him that Anson was on the loose, Agent Pearce led the way out of Mr. Porter's condo and down to the parking lot behind the building.

"We should take our own cars," her companion commented, leaning into to place a kiss on the senior CIA field officer's cheek.

"You're right." She nodded. "No need to broadcast, we - er -" Her finger tips brushed against his arm.

"We'll get through this first and then work on where we're going." He wanted to kiss her again like he had before, but the parking lot of his condo wasn't the place for that regardless of how early it was.

"We'd better get going then." Dani straighten her hair. "I'll meet you at the office."

Jesse waited until she drove away and then went to his own vehicle. Jumping in, he started the Porsche's engine and set off after the government standard issue black GMC. When he had joined Agent Pearce on the private CIA flight to DC, he'd had no idea where their working together was going to lead.

The attraction had been there all along. From the first time they had met on that agency op with Michael in the Bahamas, Mr. Porter had admired the leggy brunette. But he'd never considered a relationship with her. She was older than him, seemed to be career driven and, if there was one thing he didn't want, it was a romantic entanglement with a spy. Yet here they were, after working their second official case together... He grinned stupidly, catching his reflection in his rear view mirror.

It had really started for him on the company jet, watching her handing out orders and taking charge. He had admired the sway of her hips as she has marched up and down the aisle, making sure everything was going to be in place for their arrival, firing questions at her subordinates and answering their queries all with an equal passion.

Once in DC, he had been impressed with the smooth flow of the mission and the way they had easily worked together as they had during their time in the Caribbean. For the very first time, he had gotten a real taste of what had only been hinted at before. He had always been envious of the way Michael and Fiona worked as if one. When on a job, the fiery couple were perfectly in sync and now he knew what it felt like to work together, just the two of them.

They had gone into the law firm after the office had closed, disguised as members of the cleaning staff. Then she had kept watch while he had picked the lock into the records room. Once inside, as he searched through the paper records, Dani had used her skills on the computer to download their client list before joining him in hunting through files which lacked names on the covers.

"Never mind, I have the client list," she had hissed. "We should leave, it's - Oh…." In her hands, she held a file that inside held a photocopy of a passport page and a list of bank accounts.

The photograph was that of Vaughan Anderson.

"Come on, we should go," he'd agreed with a grin. "That should be enough to get the FBI drooling, a terrorist locked up in Gitmo with an active bank account."

Not wanting to have to spend a whole night cleaning an office building, but also not wanting to alert the firm's security to an unauthorized breech, they had sneaked out, avoiding being seen. He guessed it was the thrill of working so well together and succeeding that had led to the kiss that had led to the make out session in her hotel room before they were heading to the commuter airport to return to Miami.

Smiling at the memory of her acceptance to his invitation come back to his place, he hoped he was going to get the chance to share the news with his friends when this was all over. The smiled slipped as he realized that, unless they found Anson quickly, the chances of a happy ending for all of them would be very slim indeed.

Pulling into the underground parking garage, Jesse almost ran to the elevator, just making it in time to join Dani inside.

"I have an idea and you're gonna hate the paper pushing that goes with it, but you should put in a request for Vaughan to be brought back here. If Anson is running that money we got him through Vaughan's accounts, we might just be able to motivate him to spill his guts on what he knows about the bastard."

 **()()()()()**

Michael stared out of the wind shield looking at the long, desolate road stretching out ahead; the view was fitting considering his present mood. For all her earlier reassurances, Dani Pearce's top flight surveillance team had managed to lose track of Anson Fullerton. The man had apparently sneaked out of his apartment past three experienced field agents and disappeared into the night.

But that wasn't the the end to the bad news. No, she had then informed him that she didn't have any assets in the Daytona Beach area. Everybody was tied up with either helping capture Anson Fullerton, or working on another job involving a high priority extraction of one Reed Perkins. However, she had been in touch with Jesse Porter and he knew somebody who could keep watch over the Westen family and, if necessary, deal with a psychotic soldier.

"Sam..." _It was no good. He couldn't rely on a stranger to keep his family safe. Anson was too dangerous and the man he had sent was a former Ranger._ "I can't trust some stranger to protect my mom." He pointed ahead to where there was the soft glow of city lights. "We're coming up on civilization. You should take our friend back there into the CIA while I find a car and head north. I could be in Daytona in a couple of hours."

Sam's jaw tightened and the older man sent him a look of concern. "It would be more like four hours, Mikey, and, no matter how fast you drive, it would be daylight before you got there. Jesse wouldn't send somebody he didn't think was up to the job and the cops'll be there too."

"I still -"

"Look, Pearce is going to want to see _you._ _You're_ her agent in the field." The greying man sighed as he thought about the long day ahead of him. "How about I make the drive? I'll look after your mom and Nate. It'll leave you free to go after Anson."

It didn't take Michael long to choose what to do. "Sure, thanks, Sam."

"Great, so let's go and find me a car." Ahead of them was the off ramp leading to the City of Sunrise and into the massive parking lot of the Sawgrass Mills Mall. Even at this early hour, there were still a variety of vehicles to choose from of those left there overnight.

As soon as the older man brought the Charger to a halt, Michael was out and moving round to take over the driving. "You need me to get you a car first?" he asked.

"No, that's fine, Mikey. I think I can steal my own ride... You get Jake into a nice warm interrogation room and I'll go take another two hundred mile road trip."

 **()()()()()**

By the time Michael parked his Charger next to Jesse's silver Porsche, he was close to exhaustion. Dragging Jake the security guard out of the back seat, he then popped the trunk and brought out a large bag containing all the evidence they had collected from the warehouse.

"Here, hold out your arms," Michael ordered.

"Why? Where are we? This ain't no police -"

"Who said anything about cops?" Michael answered and then handed the handcuffed prisoner the bag to carry. "Come on." Taking hold of the man's arm, Michael escorted him over to the elevators.

When they walked into Dani Pearce's outer office, Michael was surprised to see the amount of activity taking place. But instead of stopping to see what they working on, he headed straight towards the senior field agent's door.

"Michael." Agent Pearce smiled up at him as the dark haired man strode through the opening without knocking. "And I see you brought me a present." she continued, glancing at the scruffy looking individual standing at Westen's side.

Michael paused, his eyes taking in every detail of the room, including the sight of Jesse Porter sitting perched on the edge of Dani's desk. Pointedly ignoring the younger man, he turned his attention back to his agency contact.

"Agent Pearce, this is Jake. He was employed to guard Anson Fullerton's armory. Jake, this is Agent Pearce. I'm sure you two will get to know each other really well."

"Michael, where do you think you're going?" Dani called out as the spy, having pushed the security guard further into the room, had turned to leave.

" _I've_ brought you your evidence, _I've_ got you a witness. The rest is up to you," he answered flatly. "I'm going to go and find Anson myself."

"Do _you_ remember when you apologized for _lying_ to me for the last six months and then _promised_ to do things my way from now on?" She paused, watching as his body slumped. "I need your report on what happened at that warehouse and then you'll go home. _We'll_ call _you_ when we find Fullerton."

Michael opened his mouth to complain, but he saw the resolute look in the senior agent's eye and thought better of it. He knew the way the game was played and disobeying what passed for a direct order was only going to get him thrown in a cell next to Anson's security guard. So he plastered a fake smile on to his face and nodded.

"Yes ma'am."

Dani wasn't fooled for a second by the smile or the softly spoken words. "Find a space out there and get writing. Oh, where's Axe?"

"I sent him to check on my mom, to make sure she stays safe."

"Good. That should keep him out of trouble... Get writing that report, Westen, and then we can sit and go through it." She gave him her own version of a toothy smile.

Jesse waited until Dani had sent Michael's prisoner off to an interrogation room and had arranged for the explosives to be tested to see if their chemical signature matched any of the bombs used in the British consulate bombing before approaching her.

"That was a bit harsh, wasn't it?" He nodded towards where his friend sat hunched over a desk writing down the details of the Tampa mission.

"Better he's in here filling out reports than out there on his own tearing up Miami," she replied and then moved closer. "Are you going to tell me what happened between the two of you?"

"Ah, it's nothing much, just a little misunderstanding which I hope will be sorted out very soon."

"You're as bad as he is, you know that?" the dark haired woman complained.

"It's personal, Dani. Let it go. Please?"

When he looked at her that way, with his big brown puppy dog eyes, the hardened CIA operative felt her heart melt. _This was no good. This man was going to cause her all sorts of trouble._

"Well, if you won't answer my questions, how do you feel about helping me with Anson's security guard? I'd like to hear what he has to say before I do Michael's debrief."

 **()()()()()**

Daryl Johnson was a cold blooded machine, filled with anger and hatred. For a long time, ever since the mission which had seen his whole team killed, that hatred had been directed at himself. He had made a fatal error of judgement which had led to his men being brutally cut down.

But Dr Fullerton had shown him the truth, had brought in files which had shown him how the greed of a spy, now thankfully burned, had been the real cause for the death of his team. Michael Westen had given away intelligence which had gotten American soldiers killed. Yet the traitor had never been punished. Well, that was what he was going to do. He was there to make the man suffer; he was going to kill his whole family, who had thoughtfully gathered in one place.

In the pre-dawn light, he cut the telephone lines and set up a frequency jammer which would black any calls for help. He fixed his bullet proof vest in place. Tightening the straps and then picking up his guns, he walked resolutely towards the house containing Madeline, Nate and Ruth Westen.

The large white panel van parked in the street looked out of place. But with the back doors open, he could see it was empty, so he was unconcerned. He scanned the pavement and spotted a small woman walking towards him holding a large potted plant in front her. Bare legs, bare arms dressed in tight shorts and sleeveless top, he dismissed the woman as harmless and assumed her field of vision blocked by the ferns. He didn't even bother hiding his weapons.

She walked past him without seeming to notice him at all and then he heard a couple of soft pops. Pain ripped through his lower body as he collapsed in a heap, though his pain didn't last long as the large planter came down on his head.

The tiny auburn haired woman took a hasty look up and down the street before taking hold of the man by the vest and dragging him towards the back of the open van.

Ten minutes later, the van drove away and there wasn't a single piece of evidence left to say anything untoward had happened on the quiet suburban street.

 **()()()()()**

"Michael..."

He sat up with a start, his eyes wide and filled with confusion. "What? Yea, I'm awake..."

"Sorry, but I thought you should know, Jesse's friend in Daytona has neutralized the man sent by Anson. I don't have any more news for you at the moment, but your family is safe. They don't even know they were ever in danger. I'm making arrangements for them to be taken into protective custody until this is over."

Michael blinked away the moisture building in his eyes and turned away from the tall dark haired woman who stood beside him. Wiping away the sign of his weakness with a brush of his hand, he got to his feet and placed his other hand over the pile of paper in front of him.

"My mission report."

"Thank you. We'll go through it later. For now, you're going home and getting some rest."

"I'm fine, honestly." He made an effort to stand up straighter and look more alert. But it didn't work.

"Michael, you fell asleep at your desk. I'm sending you home. When was the last time you slept?"

"I can manage, I've stayed up longer than this." He brushed aside her sympathy and understanding. It wasn't what he wanted.

"Maybe so, but I'm sending _everyone_ home who's worked through the night. There's nothing else for us to do until we've sorted through all the evidence or until Fullerton comes out of whatever hole he is hiding in."

"How about I take -" He didn't want to go home. At that moment, he was willing to do anything to stay away from the loft.

"No, you're too tired to be any good. Come on," She added the command as she took hold of his arm and pulled him towards the elevators. "No more arguments."

They travelled down to the parking levels in silence, Dani keeping an eye on her newest asset. She could guess what he was going through and longed to reach out to him. He was completely alone and, from his manner, close to breaking. She didn't know what had caused the rift between him and Jesse, but she had a pretty good idea it had something to do with how Fiona Glenanne had died. With Sam away for the time being, it meant that the grieving spy would be all alone _for awhile_ and she knew what that was like all too well and it was not good.

Once they approached their cars, which fortunately no longer included the silver Porsche, she coughed softly to clear her throat. "Michael..."

He wasn't sure what got his attention more, her tone or the fact that she had taken to calling by his first name ever since...

"If you want to talk about anything... I think this is something I could help you with. When my fiancée was killed -"

"I -Dani, I can't talk about it..." he muttered, staring at the ground, his voice nearly breaking from unshed tears. "She – I wasn't there." He sniffed and, when he spoke again, she could barely hear him. "I should have listened to her. I should never -"

She could hear the recrimination in his voice and knew it was her duty to pull him back from the edge.

"Michael, I want you to listen to me. You have a job to do -"

His head snapped up at that. His eyes were bright, a terrifying mixture of anger and hopelessness. "Yeah, that's what we tell ourselves, isn't it? We have a job to do. That's what I told her over and over until-" He dropped his head again and choked back a sob.

Not sure what do at first, Dani Pearce took a hesitant step forward and laid a hand on his bicep.

"I know, Michael," she told quietly. "I know. Go get some rest. We'll need you to make sure we bury that sonuvabitch."

He nodded mutely, chewing his lower lip and getting himself back under control. "I'll see you in the morning," he said hoarsely, stepping towards the Charger.

"I'll see you when you get here," she countered moving towards her vehicle. "Get some rest," she repeated.

And since he considered that an order, he made a quick stop at the nearest liquor store on his way to the loft to ensure he was indeed able to rest.

 **()()()()()()()()**

 _He was walking through a field, wild flowers dotting the landscape at odd intervals. The air was alive with the sounds of life everywhere, birds singing, insects chattering and a cool breeze wafted through the meadow and filtered through his long, black hair._

He knew he was really back in the loft, curled in a ball clutching Fiona's pillow on his empty bed, the whisky long gone and his mind wrapped in a pleasant haze. But the dream was warm and numbing and that's all he could ask for right now.

 _He continued on his way around the edge of the stone wall towards a small copse of trees which would lead him back onto the road and back, he suddenly realized, to the Fiona's mother's home._

 _Recognizing where he was, he made his way in between the trees and out the other side. There, down a narrow, overgrown track in a small hollow, was an old wooden hay barn that was nearly empty now. But long ago, on a Christmas night, it had made a cozy, warm shelter from the cold night air._

 _As he approached the barn, he saw a group of children playing with a litter of kittens while the mother cat sat off to the side watching. He picked up the pace when he saw the lone figure step out of the barn with a fluffy bundle of fur in her hands that was by its markings another Belgium shepherd, another pup that would grow up to guard the Glenanne family._

 _She put the animal down when she saw him and they ran towards one another, embracing desperately when they came together, the world seeming to spin around them like an out of control carousel._

" _Took ya long enough t'git har. I wa' beginnin' ta t'ink ya dinnae need me."_

" _I need you, Fi," he croaked out. "Now, more than ever." He couldn't stop the tears from falling as he clutched her tightly to his body. "Stay, please, stay."_

 _She held him tighter in return as he buried his face into her hair, into her neck._

" _Sleep, Michael, sleep. This'll all be jus' a bad dream soon..."_

And sleep he finally did.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** _This is the third part of the 6.01 premiere AU that was originally posted as Chapter 6 in "Puppies, Kittens and Gun Toting Babies."_

 _()()()()()()_

 **6.01 AU – This is My Island in the Sun - Part 3**

 _An alternate for Season Six and beyond following on from 5.16 – Depth Perception_

 _()()()()()()_

 _Miami 2012_

"Jeez, Fiona, what the hell did you do to the guy?"

It had taken Sam Axe four hours to get from the Sawgrass Mills Mall parking lot to the Sunshine Motel on the outskirts of Daytona. Four hours of driving fast through the slowly increasing early morning traffic, hoping and praying the whole way he was doing the right thing. He had little confidence in Michael continuing to do the right thing when left on his own _and if Anson Fullerton made another phone call while Michael was alone..._

 _And now this..._

Daryl Jordan, former army ranger and psychiatric patient, was lying unconscious slumped in a cheap rate motel bath tub with two black eyes, a broken nose and a long deep gash across his forehead. However, those were only minor injuries compared to the state of his two shattered knees.

"That piece of scum was on his way to assassinate Madeline, Nate and that wife of his - _I_ think he got what he deserved, Sam." Fiona pushed by the older taller man so she could get a better look at the victim of her handiwork. "Besides, it's not as bad as it looks, honestly. I used half power rounds, so he'll be able to walk…eventually… and look I've dressed his wounds and I've given him enough drugs to knock out an elephant, so he's not in any pain."

Sam sighed and turned away, going back into the only other room. He was too tired to remonstrate with the Queen of the Lucky Charms over her gun toting psychotic little ways; he had something far more important to discuss with her.

"Well, he's out of it for now, so until I'm ready to go, he can stay there." He shut the door to the bathroom and then slumped down on the nearest of the two double beds in the room. "What I want to hear, sister, is your explanation for putting Mike through hell... _Do you_ have any idea how bad he's takin' your _death_? He nearly killed Jesse."

She leaned back against the bathroom door, her arms folding over her chest in defiance. "Well, somebody had to do sommit," she shot back. "Or were we just going to stand back and watch that bastard lead Michael straight inta hell?"

"I don't know, Fi... But this, what we're doin', is wrong."

"You _all_ told me what a bad idea it was to run. Michael would _never_ stand for me handing myself in. So, what other choice did I have, _Sam_? _Please,_ tell me, what else could I do?" she gesticulated wildly.

"Well, not this, lady. Do you even have the slightest idea what this is doing to him, to all of us?"

"He wa' turnin' inta a monster an' ya war all jus' standin' around helpin' ham! Well, I couldnae take it anymore!" she'd shouted back at him, losing her composure as well as her American accent. "I won' let it happen, d'ya hear me, Sam? I won' let thot bastid control ham a moment longer." She smashed the heel of her foot against the door behind her to make her point and then, just as fast as her temper had erupted, she calmed down and fell back against the bathroom door, angrily wiping away a tear before folding her arms once more across her chest.

He'd been shocked by her outburst and the urge to get up and offer some comfort was almost overwhelming. She looked so small standing against the door, her arms crossed protectively over her body. But as she'd looked at him through narrowed tear-filled eyes, he had thought better of it. He had once seen an injured panther when sneaking through the Bolivian jungle which had looked friendlier than Fiona Glenanne did at that moment.

"If I hadnae forced yar hand, how far would ya have let ham go, Sam?" she'd suddenly asked. "How bad would t'ings had ta have gotten befer ya acted? He helped a traitor hide his identity, he got me an' Jesse ta blackmail a banker ta get tha bastid his money. Whot wa' next? Steal some secrets? Kill somebody? Mabbe burn another spy, how about Pearce? She'd make a pretty target fer ham, dontcha t'ink? A senior C.I.A field officer...Would thot have been enough fer ya?"

He'd been unable to answer her accusations because, in all honesty, he had no answer. Anson Fullerton was like a slow moving plague; his attacks on Michael's integrity were so insidious, it was hard to say where exactly the line was any more.

When she realized he wouldn't, or rather couldn't, answer her, she'd pushed off the wall and walked over to the kitchenette. Her movements still fueled by anger and frustration. "So, how is he really?"

Her American accent came back as she took back control of her emotions even though her voice was still shaky.

"He's drinking himself into a stupor just so he can sleep and when he's awake - to be honest, I think the only thing keeping him going is the thought of taking out Anson and then going after _your killers_."

He'd heard her sniff and then watched as she finished making two cups of tea before turning to face him, her face lined with sadness. "You look like shit. Drink this and get a couple of hours sleep before we head back. Sleeping beauty in thar ain't goin' nowhere. He'll be out for hours."

" _We?!_ Oh no, sister, it was bad enough Mikey nearly recognizing you after that stunt in Naples. What happens if Pearce spots you? If she thinks for one minute she's getting played again, that'll be it. It won't matter if Mike ends up hating all of us, because we'll all be locked up in some CIA prison."

"I intend to be there when Michael takes down Anson," she said, smiling sweetly. "I promise I won't be seen, but I _will_ be there. So, I either travel back with you, at least part of the way, or I can find my own way back to Miami... Take your pick."

The hard glint in her eye and the stubborn look on her face had told him this was a fight he was going to lose. So he took the only course left open to him. Smiling back, ever gracious in defeat, he'd eased himself fully onto the bed and lie back. "Well, if you're coming back with me, you're doin' all the driving, Tinkerbell."

 **()()()()()**

It was just after four o' clock in the afternoon when Sam finally managed to get back to the loft. He had traveled back from Daytona with Fiona behind the wheel and the injured hit man, still drugged up and cable tied, dumped out of sight in the trunk.

When they had reached Little Haiti, Fiona had pulled off the I-95 and jumped out next to a small strip mall. "I have a storage locker nearby where I keep me big toys. Keep Michael safe and keep me informed and, Sam, be good... I will be watchin'." And then before he could reply, she had gone, striding away as if she didn't have a care in world.

"You sure can pick 'em, Mikey..." he had grumbled at her retreating back.

Twenty five minutes later, he had pulled into the CIA underground parking garage, handing over Anson Fullerton's hit man to an angry looking Agent Pearce and a heavily armed tactical team. The slender dark haired woman had stared through narrowed eyes as Daryl Jordan had been carefully removed from the trunk of Sam's stolen car and placed on the cold hard floor.

"Ah, yeah, well, guess he's a little banged up." He had understated situation with an easy smile on his lips. Unfortunately for Sam, Dani Pearce had seen nothing to smile about.

"What happened? Did _you_ do this?" she'd snapped as Jordan was being strapped to a hurriedly supplied stretcher by two CIA medics.

"Not me, this was how I found him." He'd brushed off her concerns for the injured assassin. Then Sam had realized that neither of his friends had been present. "Say, where's Mike and Jess? I thought they'd be down here to meet the guy who wanted to kill Mikey's mom."

"Jesse had to go in to work this morning and Michael was exhausted. I sent him home earlier this morning when there was nothing to more to do and _now_ you've brought me a prisoner _who may_ hold valuable intelligence we could use, _except he's too sedated to speak to anyone_."

"Look, lady, you'll have to take that up with Jesse about how _his_ contact chooses to deliver prisoners. The guy was gonna to massacre Mike's whole family. How did you think he was going to be stopped? With a few kind words and a pretty please?!"

Sam had pulled himself together after that outburst. Somebody had to keep thinking straight with all the craziness going on amongst his friends and it looked like he was the only one up for the job.

"Ya got your prisoner and now I'm gonna check on Mikey." And with that, he had slammed the trunk shut and driven away.

Now he was standing at the top of the metal staircase, staring at his friend's door and wondering what he was going to find inside.

When Sam stepped through the door, the first thing that hit him was the smell of stale liquor. Pursing his lips, he closed the door and moved across the room, worried that his none too quiet entry _hadn't_ disturbed the man on the bed in the least. His buddy should've had a gun pointed at his head already.

After satisfying himself Michael was still breathing, he leaned down and picked up the empty bottle which had fallen onto the floor, presumably when the younger man had finally passed out and tried to drop it in to the trash.

Wiping a hand over his forehead, he sucked in a deep breath and moved back over to the bed. It was time to wake up Michael and put him back to work.

"Hey, Mikey! Wakey, wakey, rise an' shine, brother." He forced the cheerfulness into his voice and hardened his heart as he pulled the pillow Michael was cradling out of his arms.

The spy groaned and batted away the large hand which shook his shoulder.

"Go away, Sam," he grumbled into his bed covers.

"Not happening, fella. You gotta get up. C'mon, you need to take a shower and get dressed before we go and dump my ride and get you something to eat." To make his point, he took hold of the arm that was trying to knock him away. "Dammit, Mike, I didn't drive all the way back from Daytona in a stolen car with a body in the trunk to find you lying down on the job."

At the mention of a body in the trunk of a stolen car, the younger man sat up, whimpering and clutching at his head, as he made it to an upright position.

"You need to quit this drinking yourself into dreamland, Mikey. Your body isn't used to the abuse. You keep this up and you won't make it to the finishing line and, from what I've heard, Anson has nowhere left to run. It's just a matter of time until he's found."

"I'll believe it when it happens," Michael replied miserably. "What's this about a body? Did Jesse's guy -?"

"I got to the meeting spot and Jordan was all trussed up waiting for me. I tell ya, Mikey, if the guy wasn't a psycho killer in league with an evil genius, I'da felt kinda sorry for him. Jesse's contact did a real number on him. Anson's hitman's gotta busted up face and had his knees shot to pieces."

"How?" Michael winced as he tried to become more engaged in the conversation. "Pearce told me he was taken down quietly, that the first my family was gonna know about it was when they get taken into protective custody." If at all possible, Michael's pasty complexion paled even further. "My phone – has my mom called?" He patted his hands over his pants and pulled out his phone to find no missed calls.

Sam saw the look of disappointment and shook his head in silent sympathy for his best friend. Madeline Westen was one woman who knew how to hold a grudge.

"She'll get over it, brother. Your mom is one tough lady, she'll work it out. You were only trying to protect her." As soon as he said it, he knew he had made a mistake as Michael suddenly choked and got to his feet, staggering away towards the bathroom.

"I couldn't protect -" Michael slammed the door behind him and then all Sam could hear was the whooshing of running water as the shower was switched on.

 **()()()()()**

Throwing the bathroom door shut with a bang, Michael twisted the taps which sent water cascading down from the shower head into the bathtub below. His hands shook as he tore his clothes from his body.

 _He would not let thoughts of - her fill his head. He had a job to do, a mission to complete. He would not, could not let - her, let F-._

He gulped, and wiped a hand over his eyes. _She was gone, Fiona, his Fi-._ A choking sob escaped from between his tightly pursed lips and his body convulsed. But he pulled himself back. _I will not think about this now. I can't -_ He sniffed and drew in a shuddering breath. _He had a job to do. He would just think about the job._

Climbing under the hot water, he let the heat wash away the pain. Closing his eyes, he pushed back the image of Fiona in his mind. _Soon, soon, I'll be able to bring you back, I'll keep you alive... I'll- I'll get out, I'll leave the agency... I'll -._

He thought about the barn where his dreams had taken him the night before, he thought about Ireland, about their first night and their last and about every place they had visited, every piece of mayhem they created, each day and night they spent together. He let the myriad of memories linger just for a millisecond before carefully storing them away. _First Anson, then the men who cut you down, then -?_ He let the emptiness settle over him. _Then, then - I'll think about it later._

By the time he climbed out from under the water, he was back in control. The wall he had put up around his emotions was fragile, but he would do whatever it took to make sure it held. _First Anson, then the men who killed her...that was all that mattered._

He walked back into the loft with just a towel around his waist and another in his hand as he rubbed his hair dry.

"You feelin' better now?" Sam asked from where he lounged against the counter top.

"I'm fine," Michael replied automatically, not even having to think about his answer. _He was always fine_.

Padding across to the wardrobe they had shared, he paused, his hand brushing over the small metal handle. Closing his eyes, he opened the door and just by memory pulled out the first suit his hand touched upon.

Dropping the hanger on the bed, he went over to a chest of drawers and again paused. _There was too much of her, of Fi-, of her stuff for him to concentrate._

He glanced over to where his friend sat calmly sipping on a beer. _He could have sworn earlier, when he was sitting on the bed talking to Sam, he had caught the faintest whiff of her perfume._ He frowned. _He had to put a stop to this. He needed to get outside and away from anything that reminded him of what he had lost. He had a job to do._

"I've got ya a bottle of water and a couple of Aspirin over here. You need to hydrate, brother." Sam calling out from across the loft dragged him out of the pit of despair he was about to step into.

Michael blinked and then turned to flash his friend a half-hearted smile. "I'll come and get it in a minute. Let me get dressed first, 'kay?"

"Sure thing, Mike." He glanced at his watch. "I tell you what, how about after we get rid of my stolen car and we head over to the Chadwick. You can order something to eat from room service and I can have a shower and get outta these..."

Michael held up a hand as his phone began to ring and the way the younger man's skin paled caused the older one to stop talking.

"Michael, I called to congratulate you on your quick thinking, managing to neutralize Mr. Jordan, while you were still hundreds of miles away. You really do live up to your reputation for having an exceptional ability to improvise and it is that ability which I wish to utilize for a short while."

While he listened to Anson's speech, Michael watched as Sam grabbed up his own cell phone and put a call through to Pearce.

"You tried to kill my family. What makes you think I'll forget it all and help you? It's because of you that -"

"No, Michael, what happened to Ms. Glenanne cannot be laid at _my_ door. If _anybody_ is to blame, it _has_ to be Mr. Porter. He _failed_ to give her proper covering fire. _He's_ the one who left her to die and _he's_ the one who ran all the way back to Miami without her body."

Michael closed his eyes and drew in a sharp breath. He was not going to let the creep on the other end of the line get to him. "You didn't call to talk to me about Jesse. What is it you want, Anson?"

"I need you and your remarkable skill set to get me out of the country, preferably to somewhere without an extradition treaty with the US. Now, before you say no, I want you to understand. _I want_ you to remember you have other friends. Sam Axe is facing a very serious investigation. I believe he is being accused of spying for Russia. I can make those accusations disappear."

"You're the one who -" Michael began to say hotly, but he was interrupted.

"You know, Michael, it's a shame no one ever let the authorities know what was going on in your home when you were growing up."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Mr. Westen countered.

"All the yelling, the screaming, all the abuse you had to endure as a child. Your mother was always very keen to avoid having the Department of Children and Families get involved in your lives, wasn't she?"

"Still waiting for you to get to a point, Anson…" Michael caught Sam's signal to put the call on loud speaker and keep the evil mastermind talking.

"What I'm trying to say is that I'm sure Madeline knew what would happen if you and your brother were ever taken from her. You would have ended up in foster care, wouldn't you? Split up, bounced around... why you might even have ended up somewhere worse than your own home. I'd hate to see something like that happen to Charlie. I mean, he's so young and defenseless and who knows what could happen to him if, oh say, someone were to call and mention your brother's alcohol and gambling problems... Who knows what else might come up in that conversation? Did he ever explain why he had to leave Las Vegas in such a hurry?"

"Just stay away from my family. If you..."

"Me, Michael? Really, I'm just pointing out what could happen if you don't solve my travel problems. I want you to think about what could happen to Charlie once he's in DCF protective custody. Have you heard all the horror stories? Some of those people are really incompetent. I'd really hate to see your nephew become one of those statistics, one of those poor infants who die in DCF custody each year when they are supposed to be protecting them."

"This has to be a new low for you, using a child?"

" _You're_ the one making me resort to this, Michael. _All_ I'm asking for is a little bit of help and in return I promise to be gone from your life for good. _I don't_ want to hurt anyone. Now, meet me in twenty minutes by the fountain in Bayfront Park and come alone. If I see anybody who even looks like one of your friends or CIA, Charlie gets to spend his first birthday in foster care and Sam Axe will get to spend the rest of his life in prison. Twenty minutes, don't be late, Michael."

He stared at his phone, his mind rapidly running through all the possibilities. Was this ever going to end? He was moving without conscious thought, grabbing up his keys and sunglasses and running for the door.

 _He wasn't going to go through this again, he couldn't. He was going to end Anson, he would call his mom, call Nate tell them to pack their bags and get out of the state... Sam, Sam, okay Sam would have to come with them. He would make it right, once Anson was dead, he would..._

"Mikey! For Christ sake, Mike, hold up!" Sam roared, giving chase.

A mixture of his friend shouting out and the bright sunlight hitting his sensitive eyes caused Michael to come to a brief stop on the staircase leading down to his car. The strong firm grip on his arm held him back from continuing the descent.

"Mike, where are you going? Please tell me you're not thinking meeting that bastard without back up."

"Let go, Sam. I have to do this, I have to -" He pulled free from Sam's grip and ran the rest of the way down the steps, only coming to a stop when he realized he wasn't going to be able to leave until Sam moved his "borrowed" car.

"Sam, get that heap outta the way," he growled, glancing down at his watch. _This was wasting valuable time._

"Calm down and breathe, brother." Sam stood in front of him. "I don't know what you've got planned, but I heard that call. You gotta slow down. It's gonna take Pearce at least half an hour to get her team together and into place."

Michael swallowed thickly and took a deep breath before giving his friend a cold hard stare. "You heard him. He's going to use Charlie, he's not even a year -"

"Hey, this is what I mean, Mikey. You're not thinking clearly, Anson's threats against your brother and nephew don't mean squat. They're in federal protective custody, DCF can't touch them. They're safe and sound."

"But-" Slowly Michael relaxed and the tension drained, leaving him with only the pounding headache from his hangover. "What about you? You heard -"

Sam grinned and shook his head. "When I called Elsa and told her about the whole being accused of spying for the Russians thing, do you know what she did?"

Michael shook his head, albeit slowly and painfully.

"She put a call through to some fancy law firm in DC. They're already working on proving me innocent. Anson is going down. All you have to do is keep him there until Pearce and her team can get there to arrest him."

"He's probably gotta team of his own, Sam. There's no telling..."

Sam slammed his hand down on the hood of the Charger. "He's got no money, it's all been taken away from him, even the stuff Jesse and Fi stole back for him. Pearce took care of that. He had one guy, _one untrained guy,_ to watch his weapons store and he hadda use a psychiatric patient to do a hit. Fullerton is done. If he had his own team, would he be calling _you_ for favors?"

Biting down on his lower lip, Michael thought about what his friend was telling him and slowly nodded. "Okay, you're right. Follow me to Biscayne and back me up until Pearce gets there with her team."

"We're gonna finish it, brother." Sam beamed and patted his friend on the arm. "You're gonna get to bring him in." He pushed the younger man towards the door of his car. "Get goin' and just remember you have to keep him in the park until the CIA arrive." As soon as Michael climbed into the Charger, Sam ran round to move his stolen ride out of the way.

 **()()()()()**

As soon as his friend sped away, Sam got his phone. "Fi, where are ya, sister?"

"I'm watching Michael break several traffic laws. What's going on?" came the dry response.

"Get your ass over to Bayfront Park, he's meeting up with Anson now... And, listen lady, get up high and take your rifle with you. Mike's gonna need all the back-up we can give him."

"On my way, Sam."

With the call made, Sam drove off straight out onto NW 5th Avenue until he reached US 1.

 **()()()()()**

Michael didn't even bother doing a lap through the small lot located directly across from Bayfront Park looking for a space. He pulled the Charger onto the flat concrete curb area between the decorative potted palms with a squeal of protesting tires. Getting a ticket or getting his car towed were the least of his worries right now. He wove through the nearly rush hour traffic on Biscayne Boulevard amid a chorus of horns and curses heading towards the park. His hangover symptoms and everything else were dismissed into the background, as he could only think that he was one step closer to completing his mission.

Once in the park, Michael glanced at his watch. He still had a few minutes left until Anson's deadline. He sped up as he caught sight of the large circular fountain and then he spotted his target sitting calmly on one of the green metal benches surrounding it. The moustache was gone, as was the business suit he normally wore to their meetings, but there was no mistaking the blond windblown hair or the calm smug look of superiority.

From the second he saw Anson Fullerton, Michael developed tunnel vision as he zeroed in on the man who had ripped his life apart. Increasing his pace until he running, he pushed by the civilians who blocked his path. The only sound he could hear was the rushing of his own blood.

By the time his tormentor realized something was wrong, that the man he had so successfully manipulated up until now was barrelling at him, Dr. Fullerton barely had time to get to his feet before Michael's fist connected with the solid jaw of his enemy, knocking the older man onto the hard pavement in front of him.

The shouts and screams of passers-by meant nothing to him as he kicked out, knocking the gun Anson had just draw out of his hand and then he was on him.

Michael's soul sung out as he knelt astride his foe, pounding blow after blow into the man's face and upper body. The satisfying thud of his knuckles connecting with flesh felt intoxicating, as did the sight of all the damage he was inflicting on the evil sadistic sonuvabitch who had driven him to this level of vengeance.

"WESTEN! WESTEN! STAND DOWN!"

Michael was so wrapped up in taking his revenge that the orders shouted out by Agent Dani Pearce meant nothing to him. He was barely aware that the senior field officer and her team had shown up and were now surrounding them.

"Michael! Let him go, brother, we got him. You got him! You can stop now!" Sam's voice finally broke through the barrier of hate and Michael ceased his assault and backed off.

As soon as Anson felt the attack stop, he scrabbled backwards, scooting across the pavement on his back like some bizarre crab, and reaching into his pocket before any of the armed men surrounding him could advance on him.

"Back off," he panted and then caught his breath. "I SAID BACK OFF!"

He lurched upright, blood trickling down his rapidly swelling face. Raising his hand, he let them all see the remote trigger switch in his hand. Spitting out several tooth fragments, Anson cleared his voice.

Agent Pearce signalled her team to form a loose semi-circle around their target, but not to approach him any closer.

"This is a dead man's switch. I rewired the detonator just in case something like this happened," he gasped the words out. "Just in case you didn't come alone."

Michael stared at the device clutched tightly in the psychologist's hand. Running his tongue over his suddenly very dry lips, he shifted his feet preparing to pounce at the first opportunity.

"Do you hear that sound, Michael?" Anson was concentrating solely on the man who had ruined all his plans. "That is the sound of Music Appreciation Day for Dade County Schools. Right now, there are hundreds of children from a dozen local elementary schools sitting in the amphitheater just in front of you, listening to Bach if I'm not mistaken."

"Doctor Fullerton, stop talking and disarm the device. You are under arrest," Agent Pearce interrupted.

But Anson didn't even bother to acknowledge her presence. "All those carefree children, enjoying a day in the park, wouldn't it be a shame if I stopped applying the 12.5 lbs of pressure required by the trigger? Just think about that, Michael, Agent Pearce, just think about all those sweet innocent lives wiped out in a second... When the screaming stops, you'll be scraping pieces of those children off the ground and out of the trees. It's your choice, capture me or save all those innocent kids and their teachers. NOW BACK -."

Nobody heard the shot which cut off Anson's speech before he could finish. All everybody saw was the surprised look on his face and the small hole in the center of his forehead. The agents behind the former DIA employee were knocked off their feet and sprayed with concrete and brain matter from the hole the bullet had opened up in the pavement as well as the back of his skull.

As his body began to fall, Michael leapt forward and grabbed hold of the dead man's hand, keeping it tightly wrapped around the trigger switch. While Sam and Jesse scanned the surrounding buildings searching for the hidden sniper, Agent Pearce was ordering the uninjured members of her team to search for the shooter and calling for emergency services for those who had been hurt. The senior field agent was also praying that whoever it was only had the one target and was being very grateful no one else had been killed besides that target thus far.

 **()()()()()**

After taking Sam's call, Fiona Glenanne knew exactly what she was going to do and how she was going to accomplish her task. During her early years in Miami on the long boring evenings when she had nothing else to do, she sometimes entertained herself by running scenarios for bank robberies and assassinations. _After all, a girl has to practice her skills and it wasn't as if she ever acted out these scenarios._

She would spend her time checking out bank security systems and finding the best sniper perches all over Miami for all sorts of targets. One of those perches gave her a perfect line of sight over Bayfront Park, the amphitheater and that part of the shoreline was on top of the Intercontinental Hotel.

By the time she reach her destination and had her Hecate II sniper rifle set up, she stared through the scope just in time to watch Michael tearing apart the DIA psychologist, Doctor Anson Fullerton. The sight warmed her heart and she smiled broadly. The only thing which would make the experience better was to be down there herself instead of squinting through a telescopic scope.

When Agent Pearce came running up on the scene, Fiona readied herself. There was no way on earth the soul destroying bastard far below was going to get the chance of talking his way out of a death sentence.

She saw him holding up a device and didn't care. If she hit him just right it wouldn't matter and she knew she could make the shot. Centering herself, she took a breath and, as she let it out slowly, her finger squeezed the trigger. She watched Anson die, his brain totally destroyed by the .50 caliber cartridge she had used and his hand subsequently frozen around the detonator.

Grinning like a devil and with all the weight of the world lifted off her shoulders, she packed away her rifle and fled the scene. Nobody suspected the slender woman in the floaty green and white summer dress lugging a heavy bag out of a four star hotel was anything more than a guest checking out.

 **()()()()()**

Four long hours spent answering questions on the failed arrest and subsequent assassination of Anson Fullerton had finally led to Michael, Sam and Jesse all being released and being told not to leave Miami until after the investigation was closed. All three men had been in plain sight when the shot had come, so none of them had been suspected of firing the fatal shot. Secretly Dani had informed them all that the case was to be quietly closed. It was in no one's interest to dig too deeply into what Anson and his illegal organization was up to.

Before they had left the CIA field office, Michael had stood to one side while Sam had a few quiet words with Jesse, the two men talking in in little more than a whisper for several minutes until Michael coughed loudly.

"I'll to speak to you later, Jess'. Take care, brother."

"Sure thing, Sam. Mike, do you think -"

Michael had turned away, ignoring the younger man. He still couldn't get away from the fact that Jesse had left Fiona alone. He had never thought of him as a coward to run away like that and his loyalty had never been doubted before this. But thinking about what certainly felt like Jesse's betrayal had been too hard at that moment. Maybe once he had found out exactly what had happened, then he would be able to work on forgiving Mr Porter.

As soon as they had driven out of the large underground parking garage, Michael had leaned over to the glove compartment and brought out a new cell phone. Then, under Sam's disapproving eye, he had made a phone call organizing a black flight for himself over to Grand Cayman.

"You know Pearce is going to have a fit when she discovers you've fled the country," Sam had started to complain as soon as they walked into the loft and he kept going while Michael had gathered together all the equipment together he'd thought he might need for a long protracted mission.

"Okay, I understand why you want to do this, but can't you at least leave it for a few days? Wait for the CIA to clear you of all blame, _then_ we can all fly out together."

Michael had flashed him a quick look at the word _"together,"_ but it hadn't slowed him down as he'd added a Mac 10 along with five clips to his stash of weaponry.

Finally, Sam had realized he only had one choice. It was a card he only ever played in dire circumstances. He'd walked across and blocked the exit. If Michael wanted to leave, he would have to go through him.

"Look, you shouldn't go off on your own and leaving the country when you've been ordered to stay put. It is like begging the CIA to throw you in a pit. It just makes you look guilty, brother."

Finally with his bags packed, Michael had spoken up. "Move, Sam."

"Two days, Mikey, that's all I'm asking. I've gotta travel to DC in the morning to see Elsa's lawyer friend. But in two days I can come with you, we can hunt for Fi's killers together."

"This is something I have to do alone, Sam. Now stand aside. If you're my friend, stand aside and let me do this."

Sam had pursed his lips. He had taken it as far as he could without starting a fight. He had moved to one side and opened the door. "Alright, at least let me see ya off. I'll feed Pearce some bullshit about you going to the Everglades to decompress or something, to keep her off your back. But come back soon, huh?"

Michael had nodded and offered up a small smile. "Thanks, Sam."

And that was how former Commander Axe ended up watching his friend leave. They had walked out onto a floating dock on the edge of a canal towards a midnight blue cigarette boat. Sam had handed the heavy bags down once his friend had climbed into the vessel that would take the grim dark haired man to the waiting seaplane which would take him over to the Caymans.

As the boat engine roared, Sam pressed a key on his cellphone. "I tried to slow him down, sister, but he's going tonight. You better get back to Georgetown before he tears that island paradise apart single handed... And good luck, cuz I think you're gonna need it."

 **()()()()()**

 _Three days, three lousy days later and his patience was running out. He was beginning to think he was going to have to "shake things up," as Larry would have put it. But Larry Sizemore was dead, just like Fiona Glenanne. All that was left was him and he wasn't even sure who he was any more._

Michael had been sitting in the same chair at the bar of the Blue Coral Pub for the last two hours drinking island rum, looking out on the tropical storm battering the town and waiting impatiently for the arrival of a colleague of George Anders who had offered to sell him a copy of Mr. Anders financial records.

He shook his head when the woman stood behind the bar went to fill his glass again. He had waited long enough. Tomorrow he would go to the banker's office and convince the man to hand over the documents. Michael's patience was at an end. Maybe it _was_ the right time to shake things up. The police knew nothing, the coroner had no bodies to examine and forensics had a burnt out vehicle, a little bit of DNA and thirty used bullet casings. But no guns, clothing, or anything to show who had done the shooting or what had become of the victims.

Throwing down enough cash to pay for his drinks, Michael got to his feet. It was late and he had big plans for the next day: the banker friend first, from there he would start on the local drug dealers and then anybody else he thought might be hiding things from him. He was through playing nice.

Ducking his head down, Michael stepped out into the torrential rain and the gale force winds. Even as wet as it was, it wasn't cold and being caught in this sort of downfall was nothing new to the Miami resident. He walked rapidly along the narrow pavement, letting the wind and rain clear his alcohol filled head.

He didn't get far before he felt that old sensation of paranoia. Maybe his questions had attracted the attention of somebody who could give him some answers. Without letting on that he knew he was being followed, he entered a narrow alley way between two shops.

Seconds later, a figure came into sight and he pounced, slamming his stalker into one wall and then the other to stun them. With a hand wrapped around his pursuer's throat, he lifted the small figure off the ground and pinned whomever against the wall.

For a split second, they stared at each other, blue-green eyes open wide and filled with fear meeting ice cold blue orbs which went wide with shock and confusion.

"Fi?" Michael gasped softly.

Instantly, his hand left her throat, easing her down the wall until her feet reached the ground.

"Fiona? I – Jesse..." he stammered. "– I..." He couldn't form a sentence, so instead he drew her into a tight embrace.

 _She felt real..._ He buried his face into her hair, nuzzling her neck. _She smelt real and she was warm, her arms both strong yet gentle as they wrapped around him, holding him just as tightly as he held on to her._

"Shhhh, shh, Michael, I'm here... Shhh... I'll explain everything. Let's get out of this rain."

He wouldn't have fought with her even if he could. He wouldn't do anything that might break the spell. _He had to be hallucinating or maybe he had passed out in the bar and this was all a dream._

Her hand felt just right in his as she led him back out on to the street and, without being told, Fiona led him all the way not only to the right hotel, but to the correct room. She took the key from his pocket and pushed him inside.

When the light was switched on, Michael got his first clear look at the ghost of his lover and he froze. His brow creased as his eyes flickered over her drenched figure and features. Very slowly, hesitatingly, he approached her, his hand raising to tenderly cup her cheek.

He could see the tears in her eyes and feel the way she trembled at his touch. He watched entranced as her tongue ran across her upper lip.

"Michael..." she breathed his name and the wall he had built up around his heart crumbled and cracked, releasing a flood of emotion.

He couldn't talk, he couldn't put into words what he was feeling, it was impossible. Instead he folded his arms about her, cocooning her against his body, yearning to be closer still, to show her how much she meant to him.

"Michael..."

He stole her words from her mouth with a ravaging kiss which slowed and deepened as she surrendered to his touch. He was unaware of her walking him backwards towards the bed or of her hands making a space between their bodies so she could unbutton his shirt.

He had no memory of how they ended up in his bed, naked and entwined, only that it was where he belonged and a place he never wanted to leave. He was unable to comprehend how this miracle had happened, or what he had done to deserve this gift. She had been taken from him, but somehow she was back. He didn't care about how or why, only that she stayed.

He took his time that night and for once she didn't fight him. Instead she let him set the pace, moaning and writhing under his tender touch. When they were finally spent, he fell asleep clinging onto her tightly.

It was impossible for him to sleep for long. Each time Fiona moved in her sleep, his eyes flew open and fear filled his heart that she was about to be snatched away. In the end, he had got up and sat down by the French door which led out onto the balcony. As he sat there watching Fiona sleep, he began to wonder how this had happened.

Slowly the truth of the deception dawned on him. Jesse would have never left a fallen friend, that should have been his first clue. The woman in the car tailing them on their way to Naples was another. Sam had come back from Daytona smelling of her perfume. _Had they all been in on the deception?_ Fiona had been Jesse's contact in Daytona... She had been the one to keep his family safe. A guy with blown knee caps, that was one of Fiona's specialities, a small reminder of her past, of an IRA punishment, a warning to criminals to desist in what they were doing. And lastly, that shot which had come out of nowhere, the high caliber bullet destroying Anson's brain, keeping his hand from opening on the trigger switch. That had to have been her, too.

At each clue as he had pieced it together, he had felt a twinge of fury start to rise at his friends' deceit. But as soon as he turned his eyes back to the bed, the feelings of betrayal died away. He had just been given a second chance, did he really want to blow it by being angry with her? Did he want to lose her again? Was what she had done any worse than the things he had done to her in the past?

 _He_ had betrayed _her_ and left her back in Ireland with no word at all; though it hadn't been his choice, _she_ hadn't known that. He had pushed her aside for his job more times than he cared to remember and he had done those things, if he was being honest, for himself. He had no doubt in his mind that the plan had been all hers. She had probably coerced Jesse, then left Sam without any choice but to go along and she had done it to _free him_ , done it for _his_ benefit, however painful it was. He hadn't really given _her_ a choice as he'd proceeded blindly, doing all manner of evil in the name of protecting her.

He was still sitting there, pondering those last words her brother had said to him all those years ago, when the sun rose up above the horizon and light began to filter into the room. Watching as the figure on the bed began to move restlessly in her sleep, Michael got to his feet and made a call down to room service. Then he went to have a shower and prepare for what he suspected was going to be a long and painful day.

When Fiona woke up, Michael was already showered and dressed and there was a table filled with breakfast food waiting for them on the balcony.

"You did all this without waking me?" Fiona commented as she stretched.

"I couldn't sleep." He shrugged and tried to hide his nerves behind a toothy smile.

Without another word, he handed her one of his clean shirts and then held out his hand to help her on to her feet. "I ordered you your favorite and a pot of Earl Grey. I know it's not your normal blend, but it's the best they could do."

"You're spoiling me, Michael," she answered quietly as she slipped into his dress shirt.

He could tell she was feeling just as wary as he was, neither one of them was any good at dealing with relationship issues. In the past, he had run half way around the world to escape talking about those issues and Fiona tended to get violent.

They ate in silence, their fingers occasionally touching and entwining. It was so tempting to draw her into an embrace and forget about talking, they were no good at it any way. He got to his feet and went to look over the balcony edge at the morning crowds of tourists. This was far more complicated than when he had asked her to move into the loft. He turned and discovered she was staring at him, obviously waiting for him to make the first move.

In the end, much to Michael's relief, Fiona broke the silence first. "I'm sorry I had to put you through that... Making you believe -"

"I know why you did it, Fi... You don't have to explain," he answered softly.

"You wouldn't listen," she rushed on. "You were doing so many bad things, we were all scared about what you were going to do next."

"I would have found a way out," he insisted reflexively. "We were getting close to beating him." _This wasn't how he had wanted this discussion to go, but his hesitation had given her the lead._

Drawing her auburn hair away from her face, Fiona got to her feet and came to stand in front of him, her hands resting lightly on his hips.

"When will ya get it inta thot thick head o' yours, it's not up to you to make all the decisions?"

He was still coming to terms with the fact she hadn't died in a hail of bullets. Having Fiona that close, alive and well, was intoxicating. He took hold of a long tendril of reddish brown hair and wrapped it around his finger. He frowned as he tried to come up with the right words.

"What is it you want from me, Fi?" he asked at length.

She cocked her head and looked up at him. Now he could read her indecision as she tried to work out what he meant.

"I'm out of the CIA," he blurted out the admission. "I haven't told Sam, or anybody else, but Pearce... I'm probably facing charges for all the things I've done, including leaving Miami on an illegal flight. But I signed all the papers and Dani signed off on them all. As of three days ago, I'm unemployed."

"And all it took was for me to die," she quipped with a trace of bitterness.

"No! I mean... I promise, I'm out..." He panicked momentarily, thinking that he had said the wrong thing. "It's over, Fi." His arms drew her closer as he peppered kisses all over her face.

She gently eased herself back and stroked a hand over his cheek. "So what now, Michael? What do you intend doing without an agency behind you?"

"Whatever you want... We can stay here, or go back to Miami." He smiled. "I want you to be happy."

"And when you grow bored of us living in just one small little bit of the world, or when somebody from one of the alphabet soup of agencies knocks on our door to ask you to take one last assignment?"

He took a deep breath and sighed. At that precise moment, he would have preferred to take a bullet than do what he was about to do. But he knew it was what she needed to hear.

"When I was burned, I was angry, confused and determined to get back in, whatever the cost. I didn't know how to be anybody else, how to live any other way... But those feelings were _nothing_ compared to what I felt when I thought I'd lost you. So, what is it _you want_ Fiona Glenanne? You need to tell me cuz I'm no good at this and I don't want to get it wrong."

He stared at her as she backed away until they were out of arms' reach. She stood with her hands on her hips and her blue green eyes flickered up and down as she studied every inch of him. A slow smile curved her lips and then she spoke with a hint of a challenge in her tone.

"And if I war ta tell ya I want an island in tha sun, with puppies, kittens and a brood o' gun toting babies, whot would ya say about thot then?"

He gulped and felt the color drain from his face. _The island in the sun... well, there was plenty of houses for sale on the many hundreds of islands in the Caribbean, so he was sure he could do that. But puppies and kittens...? A shiver ran up his spine at the thought of being surrounded by hordes of small fluffy animals. And gun toting babies -?_

She was laughing at him, somehow reading his thoughts. "I don't need any o' thot. You're my island in the sun, Michael, and that's all I've ever wanted. Me and you, living and working together, helping people like we used to before Anson Fullerton and all those other bastards came into our lives."

She was back in front of him, her arms around his neck, her fingers in his short dark hair scraping across his scalp and pulling his head down until her mouth was next to his ear.

"Lemme me show ya whot I want Michael Westen." She nipped his ear with her sharp teeth. "I wa' always better at showin' than tellin'."

 **()()()()()()**

Epilogue

The first test on their new life together had come only hours after Fiona's energetic show and tell. A text message on Michael's phone from Sam Axe:

 _Hey, Mikey, you better get back here quick. Pearce knows you're AWOL. 24Hrs, brother, that's all the time you got left._

He hadn't wanted to leave, but Fiona had been the one to point out they could hardly move on with their lives if they were on the run from the CIA. He had to go back and break the news that remarkably Fiona Glenanne had survived the brutal shoot out which everybody supposed had killed her.

In the early hours of the morning, just before he stepped back onto the seaplane which would take him back to Miami, she had given him a little reminder of what he could look forward to if he didn't keep his word. The imprint of her hand on his cheek had lasted nearly half an hour, as did the sting from the slap.

Over the next three weeks, Michael had spent the majority of his time in a variety of small rooms answering the same questions over and over again before he was eventually cleared of all charges. During that last week, his resignation had been officially accepted and he'd walked away from the CIA with a do not touch order, a pension, health care, and his name removed from all the travel watch lists; he was, in short, a free man.

Dealing with the CIA had been easy compared to clearing things up with one Kimberly Danielle Pearce. The willowy dark haired senior field officer had been furious when she found out Fiona Glenanne was actually alive. She'd believed that not only had Michael lied to her, but far worse, Jesse Porter had used their blossoming relationship to help his friend deceive the agency.

Nothing either man said could repair the damage. Dani's trust had been broken and she had stopped taking Jesse's calls. It was only after one of Michael and Fiona's daily chats, when he had explained to her how broken up Jesse was over losing Ms. Pearce, that Fiona had stepped into the affair. Calling Michael's former agency contact, the Irish woman had taken all the blame upon herself, making it clear that she had coerced Jesse and deceived Michael, ensuring that the other woman understood that what they had done hadn't been done to hurt her, but rather to free Michael to act.

It took a further two weeks for the the case on Anson Fullerton to finally be closed and for all the charges against Fiona to be dropped. The bombing of the British consulate had been blamed on the actions of a single rogue DIA officer and the psychotic former CIA agent he had freed from an overseas black prison. Pearce had been right when she had said nobody was going to want an in-depth investigation to take place.

To celebrate their newfound freedom, Michael had taken Fiona on a trip over to the UK to the small island between Northern Ireland and the mainland called the Isle of Man. There for a week, with the help of Sean Glenanne, Fiona had gotten to spend her time with her mother who she hadn't seen for nearly eight years.

It had been on the last day of Maeve's visit that Michael had revealed he had arranged a surprise trip for them all: a quick trip across the Irish Sea to the Scottish coast and then a car ride inland to a small border town with one claim to fame. On a cold Thursday afternoon in an insignificant little room with only two witnesses present, Mr. Michael Westen had married Ms. Fiona Glenanne.

When they had returned to Miami, they'd held a small gathering at the Chadwick Hotel to tell all their friends and family. Everybody was overjoyed by the news, even though both Jesse and Sam had mercilessly joked with Michael about finally being broken and tamed. Madeline, who they all expected to be hurt at being left out, had kissed her new daughter and praised her oldest son for finally coming to his senses.

" _I just hope you don't keep me waiting another twenty years for another grandbaby to love."_

The second test to Michael's resolve had come from Agent Pearce. The dark haired woman had called asking the couple to meet her and Jesse for lunch. Because she'd been suffering from a bout of flu, or possibly food poisoning, Fiona had declined the offer but told Michael to go.

Michael had arrived early, taking up their regular table at Carlitos. When he had seen the couple stride along the pavement towards him, his heart had sunk. Dani Pearce's pale drawn features and her body language had been as good as screaming her distress and he had known this wasn't to be a strictly social call.

In the end, it had been up to Jesse to explain the reason for the meeting. Dani had been going through some of the documents Anson Fullerton had stored in his house when she had found one with her name type written on the cover. She should have handed it over to another agent, but instead she had opened the file and discovered how Fullerton had planned to manipulate her into working for him.

Anson had managed to find the name and the location of the man who had killed Dani's fiancé, Jay Tunberg. Mr. Ahmed Damour was living a life of luxury under the protection of the CIA, using the information he had stolen from Jay as his ticket to the sweet life at the agency's and her fiancé's expense.

Michael had listened to Jesse's and Dani's plan to go after Damour and had pointed out that if she did it her way, she would at the very least lose her job. He had a better idea, but his voice had died away when he remembered his promise. The urge to help had been strong, but Fiona was sick; she'd been barely able to get out of bed and hadn't been able to keep any food down for the previous forty eight hours.

" _Go," Fiona had ordered when she'd found out the reason for the meeting. "I've already told Dani you'll help. We owe her and Jesse. I'll be fine."_

So he had gone along with Agent Pearce and Mr. Porter, and, with the assistance of Sam, Madeline and Nate, had helped to bring the murderer of Jay Tunberg to justice.

Fiona had spent the whole time her husband was away worrying that the call back to a government job, to returning to the life of a spy, would be too strong. She'd prepared herself for the call that would tell her he had been asked to complete one more job. But instead of a call, he had returned to her and fallen into bed.

" _Was it fun, being a spy again? Tricking a target into revealing his secrets?"_ she had asked.

" _No, I like our life,"_ had been his short answer, and then he had set about showing her how much he had missed her.

The third and final trial had began a month later, Fiona was still suffering from the occasional bouts of nausea. She had gone off seafood completely, the mere smell of fish being enough to send her racing for the bathroom. Deep down in her heart, she knew what was wrong and she'd known that eventually she would feel better. But now her favorite jeans would no longer zip up and she had noticed Michael watching her sometimes with a look akin to that of a scared bunny rabbit.

After a trip to the pharmacy, followed by a visit to the bathroom, she had come out looking pale and shaky. Later that night, she had sat her husband down to give him the news.

"Michael," she smiled nervously, her heart thudding in her chest. "I – I think we need to talk."

He smiled back and reached over the table to hold her hand. "You're pregnant."

"How? How do you –?"

"I wasn't sure, but -" He held up the receipt from CVS for one pregnancy test kit. "You dropped it on top of the trash - and I was curious."

"And you don't mind? You're okay with this?"

He got to his feet and moved around to kneel at her side, his head resting on her lap.

"I guess you're goin' to want those puppies and kittens, too?" He smiled up at her before she leaned down to press a long, lingering kiss to his lips.

"Only one thing, this kid..." he declared, as they broke apart, his hand splaying over her tiny baby bump. "This kid doesn't get to tote a gun. At least not until they're are old enough to ride a bike."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** _This is the fourth part of the 6.01 premiere AU that was originally posted as Chapter 2 in "Reconnecting."_

 _()()()()()()_

 **6.01 AU – This is My Island in the Sun - Part 4**

 _An alternate for Season Six and beyond following on from 5.16 – Depth Perception_

 _()()()()()()_

 _Georgetown, Grand Cayman, 2012_

Michael followed the ghost of Fiona Glenanne back to his hotel room in silence, fearful of breaking whatever spell had returned her to his arms. Due to the unending heartache and the copious amounts of alcohol he had been consuming recently, he wasn't fully convinced she was truly there, but he was willing to go on a little faith.

The phantom of his lover took the key to his room from his pocket without asking and led him inside, switching on the wall lights to bathe the large en-suite room in a soft warm glow. Hearing the double click of the door locking, he took his first clear look at her.

Drenched to the bone with rainwater dripping off her and making puddles on the floor, she was still in his eyes the most beautiful thing in the world. As he stared in awe at the vision before him, he felt the layers of desolation and loss surrounding his broken heart begin to loosen and fall away.

With eyes as big as saucers, she stared back at him. For all her small size and delicate appearance, he had never thought of Fiona Glenanne as fragile. But at that moment she looked to be made of glass.

A shudder ran through his body. _She had died, cut down by thirty bullets, traces of her blood had been found in the car, strands of her hair containing her DNA had been discovered trampled into the grass and a few strands draped in the bushes surrounding the clearing where the massacre had taken place... How was this happening?_

His mouth moved, but no words would come out. But it was enough to release the tension filling the room. All of a sudden her bottom lip began to tremble and a solitary tear leaked from the corner of her eye, mingling with the drops of rainwater running down her face. As if in a trance he stepped forward, reaching out to gently touch her cheek and thumb away the errant teardrop.

"Michael…" she breathed out his name and, at that instant, the wall he had so carefully built up to hold his emotions in check shattered into a million pieces and the spell was broken.

He couldn't speak. His words were frozen in his throat and all he could think about was his desperate need to feel her, to feel all of her, to reassure himself she was real and in turn reassure her that she was all he ever wanted.

With a faint moan of longing and desire, he devoured her mouth hungrily. The hand which had rested so lightly on her cheek was now cradling the back of her head, his fingers threading through her wet and tangled auburn mane and holding her into the kiss while his other arm snaked about her tiny waist.

As she leant into his body, returning his ardour, he slowly deepened the kiss, becoming more tender. He lost himself in a fiery sea of passion, the touch of her arms around him, the feel of her hips pressing up against him setting him aflame.

"Michael!" Fiona gasped as he began to ravage her neck. "Michael, we should get out of these wet clothes."

He was barely aware of her unbuttoning his shirt. It was only when she eased the soaked garment down his arms that he realized it was gone. Taking hold of her hands, he lifted them to his lips, peppering butterfly soft kisses over her knuckles before turning her hands over to kiss her palms and pulse spots on her wrists.

He continued to stare into her eyes, worried that this was all a dream, that he was indeed passed out in the bar and that she could still vanish. The feelings he had were nothing to compared to that moment he'd discovered her in the loft alive after he'd thought her dead in a fire. That had only been hours of torture, this had been days.

He tried to remove her shirt, but the soaked material and the clumsiness of his trembling touch made it impossible to unbutton properly and he ended up rending it open, the part of his brain that wasn't awash in alcohol chuckling at the irony and revelling in her startled gasp.

Slowly he dropped down onto his knees before her, rubbing his cheek over the front of her soaked jeans. Then with a touch akin to reverence, he unbuttoned and unzipped the heavy denim fabric and pushing the denim and delicate clothing underneath down her legs.

He leaned forward to remove her shoes and then helped her out of her jeans and thong.

"You're cold," he commented in a low husky tone as he ran his hands up and down the backs of her legs.

"You'll warm me u-p," she told him dreamily, a little hitch coming into her voice as his tongue licked from her right knee up her inner thigh and then down the other leg.

He peered up at her, his hands cupping her bottom keeping her before him. "Stay," he requested.

"Always, me darlin' man." She smiled down at him.

"Stay," he pleaded more forcefully, a soft Irish lilt coming naturally when she looked at him that way.

He breathed in her scent, his nose brushing over the thin strip of soft hair at the apex of her legs. Kissing her tenderly, every touch of his lips to her skin ignited another molten wave of passion in both of them. Soon, she couldn't bear his gentle teasing any longer and her fingers combed through his hair, tugging and urging him to deepen his touch and he willingly obliged.

Tightening his hold on her thighs, he spread her legs further apart and delved deeper. _He had thought he would never get another chance to do this, to taste her again. This had to be real because he couldn't bear it if it wasn't._

His own heart soared as he felt her whole body convulse above him, while her fingernails scraped across his scalp and she called out his name. _This was real, she was his again to hold._

He couldn't hold back any longer. Climbing to his feet, he lifted her easily and placed her down on the bed. She lie back watching him as he stripped away his clothes, her face flushed from her orgasm. Smiling back at her, he let his eyes flicker over her naked body laid out before him.

"C'mere," she murmured an invitation. Reaching out with languid hands, she drew him to her until he covered her like a blanket.

A shiver went down his spine as she stretched up to kiss his neck, nipping and sucking on the skin of his throat before her lips sought out his ear lobe, causing his whole body to jerk when her soft warm breath tickled his ear.

"I need ya, Michael," she purred. "I need ya now." The fingers trailed down his back pressed on his hips while her legs rose to capture him and hold him in place.

He paused, as they locked eyes, and then he pushed into her as slowly as he could. They both sighed at the familiar sensation of completeness which settled over them. Being sheathed in her warmth, her slick muscles holding him firmly brought on another wave of emotion and a hot rush of adoration. He couldn't remain still any longer. He started slowly and took his time, savouring every moment, every sensation, as if he might never get the chance to hold her, to have her again.

Then it became impossible to remain in control. As every movement, every thrust brought them closer to oneness, it suddenly couldn't happen fast enough for either of them. They clung to each other, whispering words of endearment as he took her to the edge of ecstasy and then, in a frenzy of thrashing limbs, they tumbled over together.

Afterwards they lay cocooned under the bed covers, Fiona wrapped his arms with her head resting on his shoulder. He looked down his body to where her fingers were splayed out over his chest and a hazy feeling of peace settled over his bruised and battered soul.

Kissing the top of her head, he snuggled down into the pillow behind his head. As his eyes flicked before finally staying closed, one word wrapped itself around his heart: _Home..._

 _While he lay with Fiona Glenanne, he was home._

 _And that thought allowed him enough comfort to get a few hours of rest as the storm outside his hotel room gradually faded like the one in his heart._

 **()()()()()**

Fiona was fully aware from the moment Michael withdrew his arms from around her and slipped out of the bed. She kept still and feigned sleep as tears welled in her eyes. _He was leaving. They had all warned her, he wouldn't forgive her easily._ She strained to hear the sounds of his departure, waiting to catch the soft creak of the door opening and then closing behind him, all the while trying to decide if she should attempt to stop him or if she should maintain her dignity and let him go.

When the room remained silent, she turned over and opened her eyes just a slit, peering through the darkness to see him sitting in one of the room's large comfy chairs beside the French doors. Satisfied that at least for now he wasn't running away from her, she slowly drifted off to sleep.

When she next opened her eyes, it was to the sound of water splashing down. Fiona gave thought to joining him in the shower but refrained. The previous night they had both been caught in throes of passion and he had been more than a little drunk. But now in the cold light of day, sex before they spoke about what she had done to him would only muddy the water. So, instead she stretched and then snuggled down under the covers.

Drifting in and out of a light sleep, she watched him dress and then open the doors leading out on to the balcony. Curious about what he was up to, she continued to feign sleep when a soft knock came at the door.

The aroma of freshly baked bread filled the room and she knew he had ordered room service. _This was good - wasn't it?_ She made a big performance of stretching and yawning and he was immediately at her side, holding out one of his white dress shirts for her to wear.

"You did all this without waking me?" She sat up and looked out on to the balcony.

"I couldn't sleep." He held out his hand to help her out of bed. "I ordered you your favorite and a pot of Earl Grey. I know it's not your normal blend, but it's the best they could do."

"You're spoiling me, Michael," she answered quietly as he helped her button the shirt closed and then let him lead her out to the balcony and pull out a chair for her to sit down. _Was this to be his equivalent to a last supper? He had done it before... back in Ireland._

They ate in silence, their fingers occasionally touching and entwining. It was like they had traveled back in time fifteen years. He was confusing her with his soft smiles and constant feather light touches. _He should be angry, demanding answers..._ But she held her tongue, waiting for him to make the first move. All of a sudden, he got to his feet and and moved restlessly over to the balcony wall, where he stood peering over the edge at the street below and still not a word of her betrayal left his lips.

While she finished the last mouthful of her egg white only omelette and picked up her cup of tea, she took her time to study him. She could see the tension in his arms and in the set of his features. There was a war going on inside him. It was written all over his face and suddenly she just couldn't wait any longer.

"I'm sorry I had to put you through that. Making you believe -" she blurted the words out.

"I know why you did it, Fi. You don't have to explain," he said, turning so his back was against the balcony wall, his arms folding over his chest.

"You wouldn't listen," she rushed on. Now she had started, she might as well finish and get it over with. "You were doing so many bad things. We were all scared about what you were going to do next."

"I would have found a way out; we were getting close to beating him."

 _And there it was, the same old song sung by Michael Westen. "I would have found a way." She was sick to her back teeth of those words. In fact, if he ever uttered them again..._

Drawing her auburn hair away from her face, she got to her feet and walked over to stand in front of him. Her hands went to his hips, her thumbs hooking inside his waistband and she looked up at him through narrowed eyes.

"When will ya get it inta thot thick head o' yours, it's not up to you to make all the decisions?" _There, she had said it._

What happened next surprised her. Because instead of her words sparking an argument, his expression had softened and his arms had unfolded to reach out for her

"What is it you want from me, Fi?" he asked as he avoided eye contact by playing with her hair.

 _What did she want?! What did he expect her say?_ She stared up at him trying to work out what he really meant by the question.

"I'm out of the CIA. I haven't told Sam, or anybody else, but Pearce... I'm probably facing charges for all the things I've done, including leaving Miami on an illegal flight. But I signed all the papers and Dani signed off on them all. As of three days ago, I'm unemployed."

 _How dare he!_

"And all it took was for me to die." A flame of anger burst in her chest and vicious words bubbled up in her throat threatening to spill out.

"No! I mean... I promise, I'm out...It's over, Fi."" The look of horror on his face just before he drew her fully into his arms lessened her pique. Her ear pressed against his chest informed her just how wildly his heart was beating and the kisses he peppered over her head and face calmed her tongue.

She gently eased herself back and stroked a hand over his cheek. "So, what now, Michael? What do you intend doing without an agency behind you?"

"Whatever you want... We can stay here, or go back to Miami... I want you to be happy."

 _Was that tears she saw in his eyes? He was smiling, but how long would that happiness last? How long before he grew bored of her?_

"And when you grow bored of us living in just one small little bit of the world, or when somebody from one of the alphabet soup of agencies knocks on our door to ask you to take one last assignment?"

He took a deep breath and sighed, his blue eyes stared back at her and piercing her soul. She could see no deceit in his expression, only open honesty, and it scared her more than she thought possible.

"When I was burned, I was angry, confused and determined to get back in, whatever the cost. I didn't know how to be anybody else, how to live any other way... But those feelings were _nothing_ compared to what I felt when I thought I'd lost you. So, what is it _you want,_ Fiona Glenanne? You need to tell me cuz I'm no good at this and I don't want to get it wrong."

 _Was he serious? If he had truly left the CIA behind him... Could she trust him with her heart yet again?_

Taking a couple of steps back, she put her hands on her hips. If he touched her, or if she touched him, all her determination to get their relationship back on an even keel would fall apart. He was offering her whatever she wanted and she truly, madly, deeply wanted to believe him. A slow smile curved her lips and then she spoke with a hint of a challenge in her tone.

"And if I war ta tell ya I want an island in tha sun, with puppies, kittens and a brood o' gun toting babies, whot would ya say about thot then?"

She watched him pale and a shudder run through his body as she told him her heart's desire. Admittedly, what she had just asked for was what she had wanted as an eleven year old school girl chatting about boys with her best friend, Maria Kennedy, on the playground steps of St Augustine's Primary school. In the end, she could take no more and, with a chuckle, put him out of his misery.

"I don't need any o' thot." She grinned, stepping back into his arms, her own snaking around his neck. "You're my island in the sun, Michael, and that's all I've ever wanted. Me and you, living and working together, helping people like we used to before Anson Fullerton and all those other bastards came into our lives."

Pressed up against him, she could feel the effect she was having on him and abruptly holding him close wasn't enough. She needed more, more of him. They had wasted far too much time, fighting and arguing. Combing her fingers through his hair, she tightened her grip and dragged his head down until her mouth was next to his ear.

"Lemme me show ya whot I want, Michael Westen." She nipped his ear with her sharp teeth. "I wa' always better at showin' than tellin'." And with that she backed up, her fingers working on the buttons of the shirt.

By the time she was inside the room, the crisp white dress shirt lay on the floor and she was beckoning him forward.

He came at her in a rush, but she was ready for him, and she threw him easily using his momentum and a little bit of Aikido. Watching him land heavily on the floor next to the bed, she grinned wickedly and pounced, landing astride him.

"Fi, Fiona... We break anything, I'm going to have to pay for it," he gasped.

She caught hold of his wrists and pinned them down as her mouth descended on his, stopping his complaints with a deep bruising kiss. When she finally broke the kiss, he lay quietly beneath her, openly admiring her lithe naked figure.

"You've got too many clothes on." she remarked playfully. "How I cannae show ya when there's so many layers between us?"

Wriggling backwards until she was sitting on his hips, she helped him pull his t-shirt over his head and then had to bat his hands away as he palmed her breasts.

Shaking her head. she pinned him back down.

"It's my show, remember?" She kissed his forehead, right between his eyes.

"You get ta lie there..." Another kiss, this one to the tip of his nose.

"And watch..." A peck to his slightly open mouth and then she was on the move again, trailing kisses over his chin, all around his throat and down his chest.

As she kissed her way down his body, her fingers scraped over his hardening nipples, causing him to moan in pleasure and arch up into her touch. Reaching the waist band of his linen pants, she paused to look up at him and, while her eyes remained watching his expression, she used her lips and teeth to pop the waistband button before working on the zipper.

He was breathing heavily now, his hips bucking as her nose brushed against the cotton boxers covering his very sensitive length.

"Fi, Fiona..." He reached for her head, unable to resist as she tugged both his pants and boxers past his hips.

"What d'ya want, Michael?" She ran her tongue over her lips.

"You," he answered simply on a sigh, his eyes alight with both devotion and desire.

"Me? You have me. And now..." She blew softly over his manhood and his moan of pleasure brought a smile to her lips. "I'm... gonna... have you." She kissed the head of his penis, sucking lightly as his fingers tightened their hold of her hair.

She kept him still as she took as much of him as she could, holding him down by sitting on his legs and planting her hands on his hips as he writhed underneath her, panting and calling her name in adoration as she succumbed to his urging to go faster. When he came, she drank him down, still holding him captive as his body shuddered and convulsed in ecstasy.

Only when he stilled and his hands fell away from her hair did she begin to inch her way up his body, kissing and licking every inch of him along the way. When she reached his cheek, he folded his arms about her and sighed tenderly, returning her kisses while his fingers stroked over her back.

Lying there on the floor of Michael's hotel room, cuddling and exchanging kisses, Fiona could have happily stayed there for the rest of the day. However, after a few minutes, Michael shifted and, despite her protests, got to his feet pulling her up with him.

"We have a perfectly good bed." He stood behind her, his arms draped around her waist, as he breathed into her ear. "And before this show and tell goes any further, I'd like to move things somewhere more comfortable."

His hands moved to palm her breasts, massaging the firm pliant flesh, rubbing over her sensitive nipples, while his mouth sucked on the tender spot where her shoulder and neck met.

"Ya seem pretty comfortable right now," she answered breathlessly, pushing her buttocks against his growing hardness.

"Thot I am, but I t'ink thar's somewhar else which is even better, me luv."

One of his hands traveled lower, down her torso and across her belly, until it settled between her legs, one long finger sliding into the warmth of her center.

"How's thot?" he asked, nipping her earlobe. Another finger joined the first. "Thot better?"

She leant back against him, grinding her backside into him while his hands worked her body into a frenzy. Just as her orgasm began to build, he stopped and eased her down onto the bed.

Lying beside her now, he grinned as she climbed back on top of him.

"My turn," she purred seductively. Taking hold of his throbbing manhood, she slowly impaled herself, sheathing him fully.

Kneeling astride him, she leant back against his raised knees, letting her head fall back as she rocked her hips. His hands roamed over her body, bringing her a multitude of pleasures as she lost herself in the moment.

Slowly, as the rapture began to build, Michael pulled her forward and, before she could object, he flipped her onto her back. Lifting her legs until they were wrapped around his chest, he pushed in deeper and deeper until blessed release came for both of them.

In a daze of post coital bliss, they pulled the bed cover over their still entangled bodies and fell into a deep, satisfied sleep. Of course, no matter how long they spent entwined in one another's embrace, gloriously naked and sated, it would never be enough. So it was no surprise to be awaken by Sam Axe's almost frantic text message, urging Michael to return to Miami.

"We can run," he spoke the words without hesitation. "If I go back, I could still face charges. We could still be -"

Twisting in his arms, she looked up at him and placed a finger over his mouth to stop his words.

"If you remember, when I suggested that before you shot me down. We would be on the run for the rest of our lives. Running would be enough to declare you guilty of anything they wanted to lay at your door... You have to go back."

"But -"

"But nuttin'," she stated firmly. "If it comes to it, I'll bust ya out of whatever hole they throw you in."

She edged up his body until they were face to face, her eyes were wide.

"D'ya remember that block of T4 I used on Larry? Well, I was keeping this from you, but it's one of twenty I got as payment for a nice little job I lent my expertise to last year. I can blow a hole in the side of any prison they care to throw you in."

She captured his mouth in a long, lingering deep kiss, threading her hands through his short dark hair and scraping over his scalp. When she finally released him, they were both breathless.

"Go home and let them all know we're alright and then come back to me or else I'll come hunting for you, Michael Westen."

And he knew it was both a threat and a promise, one he would be happy to fulfill.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** _This is the fifth part of the 6.01 premiere AU that was originally posted as Chapter 11 in "Reconnecting."_

 _()()()()()()_

 **6.01 AU – This is My Island in the Sun - Part 5**

 _An alternate for Season Six and beyond following on from 5.16 – Depth Perception_

 _()()()()()()_

Miami, 29th December 2012

Fiona Glenanne-Westen was close to tears. Her blue-green eyes were glistening with unshed moisture and her breaths came in deep gulps as she fought the urge to bawl her eyes out like a weeping child. Gripping the steering wheel of her brand new armor-plated Jeep Cherokee so tightly her knuckles turned white, she forced herself to stare straight ahead at the plain grey concrete wall of her parking space in the underground garage belonging to the luxury apartment building where Mr. and Mrs. Westen had made their home.

She was five days passed her due date and their baby was showing no signs of wanting to be born.

If that wasn't bad enough, Christmas had been an awful affair as the disappointment had set in when she realized the blessed event wasn't going to happen. To top that off, Miami was basking in an unseasonal tropical heatwave for December, which was apparently designed to take her misery to a whole new level. She felt hot, sweaty, uncomfortable and, most of all, fat.

The auburn haired woman sniffed and shifted awkwardly in her seat. That was another thing. She also had a desperate urge to use the bathroom, even though she had emptied her bladder less than half an hour earlier and the little monster who refused to come out into the world was doing his damnedest to rearrange her internal organs to give him the extra room he needed to continue to grow... _It was so unfair...He shoulda been born already._

Gulping back the scream which was trying to claw its way out of her throat, she wiped a shaky hand over her eyes and used some of her old meditation techniques in an effort to calm herself down. _A beautiful mountain stream, cool water running between her toes..._. _Michael Westen tied to a tree and she had a pair of nutcrackers in her hand..._

Placing a hand over her bump, feeling the slow strong movements of her son trying to get comfortable in what had to be a very cramped space, she pushed away all the hormone fuelled self-pity. She was letting her crazed emotions get the better of her and that wouldn't do. She was a Glenanne and Glenannes didn't burst into tears because they were hot and miserable. Glenannes got off their butts and did something about it.

For the last two weeks, she had gone to sleep dreaming of finally getting to meet the life growing inside her, to hold him, the feel of his soft skin, smell his scent. What color would his hair be? Would he be a quiet baby or loud and demanding? What was it was going to feel like to nurse him? Each morning she was woken by a throbbing ache in her breasts and the hope that she would be holding her baby by nightfall and each day ended with her disappointed and exceedingly grumpy. Michael, who was being far more supportive than she had ever thought possible, had taken to rising early and coming back home later and later in an effort to avoid her mood swings.

She had read all the old wives tales and had taken to going on long walks through Bay Shore Park. She had also gone out driving, searching out the most pot holed sections of roads. They had been eating curry or salsa and even spicy Cajun recipes every day. But all to no avail and then today she had attended a scheduled ante natal appointment with their former client Doctor Lauren Martinez at her Overtown clinic and hearing the news from Lauren had just pushed her deeper into despair.

" _I'm sorry, Fiona, but he's just not ready to be born yet. He's in the correct position now, but -" Lauren had bitten her lip before making the suggestion. She already knew how her patient felt about what she was going to say. "Look, I know you wanted to avoid surgery, but I really think you should talk with Michael and let me book you in for a C-Section."_

" _Isn't there anything I can do, you know, to try and speed things up?" she'd asked hopefully, not caring one bit if she sounded like a scared teenager. "I've been doing my own research and we've tried a few of the suggestions. I've been going on long walks. I spent a whole afternoon driving over every pot hole I could find in Dade and even Broward County. We've had spicy food every night for the last week. I -" she'd paused. "Well, I heard that there's one sure way - but Michael isn't keen, he's worried..."_

 _Lauren had smiled knowingly. "You're healthy. Tell him I said there's no medical reason for you not to - indulge. Now, go home, rest and try to be patient."_

 _Patient? Hah! Why does everybody keep telling the pregnant lady who needs to pee every ten minutes to be patient?_

She didn't want to have a C-Section. Surgery would leave her vulnerable during the time it took to heal. Intellectually, she knew they were under the protection of the US government. Michael's retirement package had given him a good pension, healthcare and sanctuary from all their collective enemies both foreign and domestic. But that didn't mean she could shake off a lifetime of being careful.

 _Patient_. _Bah!_... Anybody who knew her at all knew that particular word didn't belong in the same sentence as the name Fiona Glenanne-Westen.

The Irishwoman let go of the steering wheel and then slapped her hands back down, a look of determination coming to her tear stained blotchy face. It was time to take charge. Looking down at her large protruding belly where her son was happily punching on her kidneys, she smiled grimly.

"It's time fer ya ta come out, son," she told him and then, climbing awkwardly out of the tall vehicle, she slammed the door and looked towards the elevator which would take her up to the twentieth floor. "Let's go wait fer yar Daddy."

Tapping her swollen foot in its ugly flat canvas shoe on the carpeted floor of the elevator, Mrs. Westen rode up to the twentieth floor hoping and praying all the way nobody else would want to join her in the small space. _If one more person stared at her bump and then asked "Ooh, it can't be long now, when's the happy day?" in that stupid irritating tone which set her teeth on edge..._

Thankfully the elevator went straight to her floor and Fiona quickly punched in the six digit code to gain entry to her home. Locking the door behind her, the Irishwoman dropped her bag onto a small round table and then with a sigh kicked off the awful shoes, which were the only things she had been able to wear for the last two weeks.

 _As soon as they had both gotten over the shock of her pregnancy and had come to terms with the fact they were going to become parents, they had set about the task of finding a home to raise their baby. As the list of requirements grew, the short list of suitable properties became smaller and smaller and each time one particular sticking point couldn't be unstuck._

 _None of the houses they visited could supply the level of security a hyper paranoid ex-spy and his gun running, former terrorist wife felt was required to keep their baby safe, at least not in their price bracket._

 _It had been Sam's girlfriend who had suggested they took a look at a new apartment building opposite Bayshore Park. The front entrance required a key card to get into the lobby and there was a twenty four hour concierge service manning the desk checking on visitors. A similar system was in place to get into the underground parking levels with security guards and barriers._

 _Their apartment on the twentieth floor facing towards the ocean, which meant they were not overlooked and anybody either rappelling down from the roof top or climbing up from the ground would be seen before they reached their target._

 _With just a few minor adjustments, they had their fortress and with the park across the road, a choice of two swimming pools on the roof, a gym and health spa all on site, plus the best in home security, the place was ideal at least for the next two or three years._

With her ugly shoes dispatched, Fiona turned the central air to the lowest possible setting, filling the large open plan living space with icy cool air before crossing over the light colored wood floor to slide open the doors to the large balcony to let in the breeze coming in off the ocean.

Twenty floors up, with the balcony wall made from bullet resistant, darkened privacy glass meant she could walk outside confident that it was impossible for her to been seen even by a sniper with a top of the line telescopic sight on one of the yachts in the nearby marina or out at sea.

 _She smiled fondly at the memory of Sam borrowing his lady friend's fishing boat so that they could test out the theory that a sniper wouldn't be able to get a clear shot over the top of the bullet resistant glass balustrade. It had been a lovely day, lying side by side, each of them sighting their favorite sniper rifles trying to line up a shot on the two cardboard cut-out people they had placed on the balcony._

Staring out at the view as she reminisced, Fiona let the cold air from the overworked central air system and the sea breeze cool her overheated body while she began to plan the seduction of Michael Westen. If all went well, he would end the night thinking all his birthdays had come at once and, with a bit of luck if the old wives held an ounce of truth, she would have her baby boy in her arms by tomorrow.

Turning, she strode purposefully into the bedroom they shared, stopping along the way to collect fresh linen for the bed from the large airing cupboard in the laundry room. It had been two months since they had been fully intimate. There had been lots of cuddling and touching during that time, but as she had got bigger and her temper had grown shorter, things had cooled in the bedroom.

Well, that was going to change. _She could be seductive... She could be alluring... Dammit, he helped get her into her present state, the very least he could do was help her out of it..._

()()()()()()()()

 _Being made to believe he had lost Fiona in a bloody gun fight had finally forced Michael Westen to accept how much he loved the tiny Irishwoman. His utter desolation during the short time his friends had kept up the lie was something he never wanted to face again. When she had revealed herself to him, it had changed everything. He had been at his lowest point. Only the thought of finding her killers had been keeping him going and then, on that stormy night on Grand Cayman, he had been given his life back. From that moment on, he had made himself a solemn promise he would do whatever it took to make Fiona Glenanne happy._

 _Now he was beginning to wonder if he was up to the task of being a husband and father. Over the last few weeks, his wife had changed. Each time he approached the front door of their apartment, he wondered which Fiona was going to be waiting for him on the other side. There was sweet, maternal Fiona, who would have a meal waiting for him on the dining room table and who liked to spend the night cuddling. Then there was at the other extreme crazed psycho Fiona, who greeted him with some object flying at his head before bursting into tears and when he tried to offer some comfort would catch him with a punch or toss him onto the floor with an Akido throw._

 _Up to the sixth month of the pregnancy, Fiona had worked alongside him and Sam as security consultants for Sam's girlfriend, Elsa Dearbon's, many business interests. But by the time she entered the third trimester and was confined to mundane office duties, the flame haired woman with unbounded energy was suddenly tiring easily and her usual uncertain temper had increased tenfold._

"So, Mikey, are we calling it a day? I mean, it's coming up four o clock and it's happy hour," Sam Axe asked as he peered out of the passenger side window of the Charger.

"You go if you want. I want to give it another coupla hours at least," Michael replied, his eyes on the exit to the Chadwick Hotels parking garage.

Over the last few weeks, some of the Chadwick Hotel guests had complained that their vehicles had been used without authorization. Items had been moved, scuff marks to the bodywork and, in one case, the interior smelling of cigarette smoke. So the Chadwick Groups newest security consultants had set up three bait cars, all fitted with trackers, and then positioned themselves out of sight to see if they could discover who was borrowing the vehicles and what they were doing with them.

With an exaggerated sigh, the older man slumped back in his seat. "Just because you're avoiding the little lady, I don't see why I have to suffer too...We know whoever is taking the cars always has 'em back by five at the latest and they haven't taken one today, so we should -"

"Sam, that Caddy going up the ramp. the guy at the wheel, I think it was Benny... One of the valets –who works the morning shift."

Lifting up the set of binoculars which hung around his neck, the older man tried to get a clear look at the driver, but it was hopeless. As Michael drove up the ramp after the black Cadillac CTS, Mr. Axe put a call through to the reception desk to get the names of the valets who were working the afternoon shift.

"Benny isn't working today; he shouldn't even be here," Sam announced as the younger man brought the Charger to a stop behind the parking spot where the young man had just pulled into with his borrowed ride.

"Hey, Mr. Axe," Benny called as he exited the Caddy. The tall skinny teenager glanced warily between the two men who were moving towards him. "I know I'm not down to work today, but Ray asked me to come in and -" He edged away from the vehicle and then took off running.

Exchanging glances, the former spy and former SEAL gave chase, the navy man soon getting left behind as Michael picked up his pace. They had sprinted down three ramps when Sam gave up the chase, as he was being left far behind by the younger men. Jogging slowly and peering through the gaps as he tried to keep track of his girlfriend's fleeing employee, he only heard the loud beep of a car horn and then the muffled bang of metal against flesh.

Mr Westen had been gaining on the youth when they had gone around one of the sharp bends and Benny had run straight into and then onto the hood of a white Honda Accord driven by another of the Chadwicks valets.

By the time his best friend had arrived on the scene, Michael had Benny in cuffs and sitting up against a wall and was explaining the situation to the other valet, who was understandably shaken up by knocking down a colleague and destroying the front end of a guest's car.

"Look, Mike, why don't you go on home? This is gonna take forever to sort out. The paperwork alone is gonna be a bitch."

"I can stay," Michael offered as he had a sudden flashback of the wooden spoon which had come flying at his head the previous evening when he made a comment about it being the third Vindaloo curry they'd had in the last week. "I don't mind."

"No, you've been out late every night. Go home, brother. Go give Fiona a surprise."

"Only if you're sure..."

"Jeez, Mike... If you want, I'll go and you can spend all night talking to Benny here."

The ex-operative took another look at the young man and then at the hood of the Honda. The insurance forms only were going to take a lifetime. "Okay, thanks, Sam, I'll owe you."

()()()()()()()

Half an hour later, Mr Westen stood before the door to their apartment, his fingers paused over the keypad. He was going to be eternally grateful when their baby boy finally put in appearance and, just maybe, once his fiery tempered wife had given birth, things would improve on the home front. This was all completely new territory for them both and, regardless of the fact that they had been together unofficially for years, it all seemed to be happening too fast. Taking in a deep breath, he pressed down on the digits and let himself inside, ready to dodge a fist, foot, ornament or whatever else may come his way.

Pausing just inside the door, Michael cocked his head to the side as he took note of the dim lighting and the pleasant sound of soft jazz coming through the sound system. Wondering what had brought about the emotional one eighty from his wife's irritable waspish personality of this morning, he decided as he slipped out of his suit jacket that he would go with the flow and hope to get through the evening without doing anything to upset the present atmosphere of peace and tranquillity.

"Michael... You're home early." She walked towards him dressed in a pale pink silk kaftan with her loose hanging hair framing her face and a welcoming smile upon her lips.

"We caught the bad guy. It was one of the valets. Sam said he could deal with it... I just have to write up a report." He saw the smile flicker and a brief hint of a scowl start to form, so he quickly added, "But it can wait until tomorrow."

He knew he had given the right answer as she stretched up, her palms resting lightly on his chest to aid her balance while she placed a gentle kiss on his lower lip. "Good… now why don't you go and shower and then we can eat. I've made you your favorite, Tuna Tahini with a fresh salad."

Michael breathed an internal sigh of relief. He had smelled the Indian curry as soon as he had opened the door and appreciated deeply the fact that she had taken the time to make him something else in addition to her obsessive pursuit of that _same_ hyper spicy cuisine.

Letting his hands settle on her waist, he returned her kiss slowly, letting it deepen as she attempted to get closer to him until he felt a firm kick from his son, asking for a bit of room. Smiling as they drew apart, he placed his hand over where their child lay and laughed as he felt another firm kick from his offspring.

"He's practising his ninja skills, so he can be just like his Mom."

She raised an eyebrow. "I think he is being stubborn just like his Da."

They just stood and stared, losing themselves in the moment, as their unborn baby continued to move under his father's hand.

"You should have a shower. Dinner is going to be ready soon," she murmured softly and took a step away.

A little bit dazed and confused by this tender, more gentle side of his wife, Michael nodded and gave her a soft peck on her cheek and then made his way to their bedroom and the en suite shower.

()()()()()()()()

As soon as Michael disappeared into the bedroom, Fiona went back into the kitchen to give her curry a stir. It had been a nuisance making separate meals. But after her husband's comment the other night, she had decided that just this once she would indulge his desire for something other than spicy, reputedly labor-inducing foods.

Her heart was fluttering at the thought of the night she had planned. It had been so long since they had done anything that even hinted at romance. In the beginning, they had been too wrapped up in finding the right home and then there had been the new business. They mostly worked for Elsa, who was fast becoming Sam's long term girlfriend, overseeing the security measures in all of the wealthy hotelier's long list of enterprises. But they also put aside some of the crazy amount of money she paid them to work the sort of cases they had done when they first arrived Miami, which had all meant by the end of the day it was all they could do to fall into bed to catch a few hours sleep before another day began.

Hearing the sound of the shower running, she smiled softly and for a moment thought of starting the party early by going to join him under the spray of hot water. She shook her head at the image of her trying to fit inside the compartment with him in her present condition. No, however alluring the idea of making love under a deluge of warm water might be, for now it just wasn't going to happen.

Looking down at bump, she stroked her hand over her now sleeping baby. _We're going to have to decide on a name for you soon._ She sighed.

 _Just thinking about his name reminded her of all the long conversations they had had after they'd discovered Baby Westen was going to be a boy. Michael had suggested her father's name, but she had pointed out there was already a Patrick in the latest generation of Glenannes, her brother Seamus' eldest son. Frank was a definite no, as were all the other family names they came up with for one reason or another. Michael had mentioned Thomas, which she had instantly shot down. Tom Card may have been her spouse's training officer and his first real father figure. But to her he would always be the man who pulled Michael out of Ireland and out of her life, and it would always remind her of her old enemy, O'Neill._

 _Sam was another suggestion. But, just like using his own name, Michael pointed out it could become confusing later on in life. He had then brought up Donald, as in Captain Don Novak. If Tom Card had been his first father figure, then US Army Ranger Captain Novak had been his first big brother. The man had encouraged him during ranger school and had later pulled him from a burning Jeep. She had requested Derry, a reminder of their first night together in the abandoned farmhouse which had once been the heart of the Glenanne family or McBride as a tribute to their love. And so it had continued, no one name being agreeable to them both…_

She had become so lost in her thoughts that the first she knew of Michael's approach was when his arms circled her waist from behind and his lips caressed her shoulder with a kiss.

"Do you want some help?"

Leaning back into his embrace just for a moment, she revelled in his warmth. She really did miss this feeling of oneness as he gently rocked them side to side.

"I'll serve up, you get the water from the fridge and then come back here and I'll let you carry the plates out onto the balcony."

They took their time over the meal discussing the case Michael had just finished and then, after they pushed back the plates, she turned the conversation to her trip to the Overtown clinic and her ante natal appointment.

"Lauren mentioned a C-Section again."

Michael swallowed and ran his tongue over his lips before speaking. Leaning forward, he took hold of one of her hands linking their fingers. "I want you _both_ to be safe. If Lauren thinks it's for the best... I think you -"

She shook her head, and he sighed. "Fi, I _know_ you think it will leave you vulnerable, but _I'll_ be here. We can talk to Dani about -"

"I am _not_ having the CIA standing guard over our baby, Michael." She felt her temper beginning to bubble to the surface and did her best to quell the rising tide of frustration. _Why couldn't he just for once really listen_? Forcing a smile onto her face, she leaned in as close as she could. "Michael, I'll consider - other options, after we've exhausted every _natural_ method." She ran the tip of her tongue over her suddenly dry lips. "I asked Lauren, and she said I'm healthy and there's no barriers to us trying, any – thing – we – want."

Untangling their fingers, the auburn haired temptress got to her feet and, as gracefully as any overdue pregnant lady could, walked around the table until she stood facing the father of her unborn child. Reaching out she cupped her palm against his freshly shaven cheek and lifted his gaze to hers.

His skin flushed under her touch as she looked deeply into his eyes, while her free hand worked loose the buttons down the front of her flowing gown. "It's been two months, Michael and, after he's born, it could be another six weeks." Her thumb trailed over the corner of his mouth. "I don't want to wait that long... Do you?" She released him and let the Kaftan slide down to pool around her bare feet.

"Fi…" Her name came out in a soft breath, his eyes never leaving her as she trailed a hand up over her rounded belly and between her breasts.

She had spent so many years doing things the other way around that the sight of his wife wearing a bra and no panties brought a sly smile to his face and a tightening in his jeans. The weight she had gained, particularly there, over the last few months had rounded her figure in a most enticing way.

"Let me help you get more comfortable," she murmured. Reaching out, she drew him up on to his feet, her fingers undoing the buttons of his short sleeved shirt.

Kissing her way over his toned, well defined torso as she helped him out of the soft cotton garment, her tongue swirling around his nipples before her sharp little teeth nipped one and then the other. She felt a rush of power as a groan slipped from between her lover's lips and his hands settled on her hips, holding her as close to him as possible.

Running the palms of her hands over his muscular back, reacquainting herself with the lines of his body, when he lowered his head and captured her mouth with his own, she surrendered to the kiss in an instant, parting her lips to allow his tongue to entwine with hers in a seductive dance.

As they kissed, his hands left her hips to capture the swell of her tender breasts and she nearly collapsed as her synapses fired off a pleasure/pain overload. She clung to him, thankful that she wore a maternity bra, for his touch was like both fire and ice even outside the lightly padded support.

"Fi?" he paused, looking down at her with such concern as she had never seen before.

"It's okay," she gulped. Her body was so hot, all she wanted was him, every inch of him, everywhere. Taking a deep breath, she tried to take back some control. "You have too many clothes on." She gave him a shaky smile and reached for the leather belt he wore with his pale blue pants.

"Fi…" He tilted his head, his blue eyes flickering as he studied her flushed and trembling frame. "I-"

"Just, maybe -" She took hold of his wrists and lowered his hands away from the tender flesh of her full breasts.

Before he could inquire further, she pulled him into the apartment and towards the bedroom with promises of all the things they could do. He smiled as he let her lead, but tugged on her hand as they approached the bed.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, worry starting to mar his features.

"I know _you_ are," she replied knowingly, her hand slipping inside the denim and cotton barrier between them to cup his hardening member with a light grip. "So, take off your pants and I'll show you how sure I am."

A wicked grin, so reminiscence of the Fiona of old, spread across her face and she pushed him back as the last of his clothing lay on the floor. The bra soon joined other articles of clothing.

"Look, but don' touch," she admonished.

As Michael fell back onto the mattress, his wife proceeded to demonstrate all those things she had promised him, worshipping his body until he was almost completely undone. The soft touch of her hands, stroking over his skin, of nails scratching and warm wet lips trailing kisses over every inch of him was made all the more intense by the sight of his woman, heavy with his child, loving him.

When he knew he could take no more, her husband caught hold of his auburn haired lover, lying on her on her side before spooning up against her, trapping her against his body so that her back was snuggled tightly to his chest, his engorged manhood pressing into her bottom before moving it between her tight thighs. Lifting one leg slightly higher, he changed positions and then he was there.

Fiona let out a deep sigh of satisfaction as he slipped gently into her warm wet folds. Stroking so very slowly, he eased his way a tiny bit deeper with each light thrust, the feeling was indescribable.

This was so very different than every other time they had made love. Before the connection they had always felt was nothing compared what they were feeling now. He knew she was feeling it too. Michael's whole body trembled as he sheathed himself inside his wife, his arms holding her and the life growing inside her so close it was as if they were one complete whole.

When they came, the pleasure washed over and through them like a cool balmy breeze on a hot day sending shivered down their spines. Utter peace, followed by a contented rest swept over them both.

()()()()()()()

Lying cradled in her husband's arms, their limbs entwined and her head resting over his heart, Fiona couldn't help but smile. Running her palm over her rounded belly, she felt it hardened under her hand and anticipation filled her with nervous excitement.

"Michael, are you awake?"

"Mmmm." A sleep laden hum was her only reply.

"Michael." She scraped her fingernails down his torso and her smile widened into a grin at the muted grumbling which issued from his throat. "Michael, I think it might've worked."

His eyes flew open and he shifted in the bed so he could see the outline of her face in the dark.

"It worked?"

"I don't know, feel." She placed his hand over her stomach and they waited.

And waited.

"Fi, I don't think – I mean -"

"Never mind," she answered tersely.

"You could start at any time." He kissed her ear and tried to coax her back into his arms. "It won't be long." He kissed her again and was pleased when she snuggled up against him. "It's bound to happen when you least expect it."

"Just like getting' punched then," she responded with a not so light blow to his ribs.

Coughing, he nodded. "Yeah, just like that."

When Michael woke up again, it was to find a cold spot where the figure of his auburn haired wife should have still been fast asleep. Yawning, he stretched and then rolled over to check the time on the alarm clock on his bedside table. It was early, not even six AM. Pulling back the covers, he sat on the edge of the bed for a moment and then stood up, retying the string on his pajama pants before going in search of his missing lover.

He found her on the balcony, staring out at the calm, flat, midnight blue ocean below, wearing one of his old shirts not quite buttoned all the way, her long hair tied back in a simple pony tail. Hearing his approach, she turned to face him and, even in the half light of early dawn, he could see the sadness in her eyes.

"Fi?"

She swallowed. "I really thought I was starting." She forced a half smile. "Like you said, any time now... You should get ready for work. Don't you have a report to write?"

"It's early..."

"Mmm... I'm going to get dressed and go for a walk. I think I may have strained my back last night."

Biting down on his bottom lip, he thought about following her, but then changed his mind. _Last night had been…_ He smiled and felt a warm flush rush over his skin as he thought about the previous night. _It had been special._ He didn't want to tarnish the memory with a return to the cold front of recent he took up the spot vacated by his wife and waited until he heard her leave.

()()()()()()()()

"Don't take this the wrong way, brother, but I was hoping not to see you today." Sam looked up as Michael walked across the floor of the Chadwick Hotel's restaurant to join him and Elsa.

"Still no sign of the baby, Michael?" Elsa added with sympathy. "How's Fiona?"

"Fiona is, ah, getting impatient." He sat down at the round table, facing across from his best friend. "So, we're _not_ handing Benny over to the police? You know, once the baby comes, I'm not gonna be around to help out, right?"

When he had finally checked his cell, he had found several messages from his business partner informing him that Elsa was going to deal with compensating the angry hotel guests while they dealt with Benny's evil con artist step father who was threatening the young man's mother if Benny didn't help supply him with vehicles he could use in his many nefarious business deals.

"It's okay, we have it covered, Mikey. Jesse is gonna come in on it with me. I just thought we could pick your brain for a plan."

At that moment, the tall broad shouldered young man in question sauntered into room, waving a greeting and Elsa got to her feet, kissing her Sammy on the cheek as he rose up at her side. "I'm going to leave you boys to your discussion. I have to go and see a man about new carpets for the junior suites."

The three men spent hours coming up with a plan to make absolutely sure Benny the valet's mother would never be bothered again by her bullying, conman husband. When Michael got a call from Fiona, he listened intently to what she was saying nodding his head in agreement and then closed his phone and stood still as if cut from stone.

"Mike? You look kinda – green. Anything wrong?" Jesse asked worriedly.

It appeared at first that the former spy had lost the power of speech and then he looked up. "That was Fi, her, ah, her water just broke..." His face broke into a wide smile. "I'm about to be a _dad_."

Jesse slapped him hard on the back, his own face lighting up at the news. "Hey, that's great, man."

"Mike, you need to get goin'. _Now..._ " Sam gave his friend a not so gentle push towards the door, when the younger man made no effort to move. "You need one of us to drive you, brother?"

"No, no, I'm fine." Slowly the fog filling his brain began to lift and he was speeding out of the door, excitement adding wings to his feet as he sped down the street towards where he'd left the Charger.

()()()()()()()()

Fiona and Doctor Lauren Martinez turned towards the door to delivery room as it swung open and Michael burst through. "I got here as fast as I could... Have I missed anything?" he gasped, his eyes darting about at the unexpected calmness surrounding him.

"It'll be a while yet, Michael." Lauren smiled easily, well used to dealing with slightly panicked expectant fathers. "I've just put Fiona on a monitor for a while. It'll measure the strength of the contractions and let us keep a check on your baby's heartbeat. Why don't you sit down here?" She patted a spot on the edge of the mattress. "I think we'll be in for a long night."

Holding hands, they sat listening to the rapid heartbeat of their baby while staring at the squiggly lines on the monitor screen.

"So, it's finally happening." She sounded satisfied, but all he felt was scared at that moment.

Michael squeezed his wife's hand, brushing his thumb over the wedding band on her finger. The lines on the monitor suddenly rose up steeply zigzagged and then dropped back down to where they had been before.

"Is that normal?" He glanced at the door Lauren had gone through.

"That was a contraction," Fiona told him smugly. "They're not so bad... A bit uncomfortable, but nothing I can't handle.

Several hours later, once her labour had begun in earnest, Fiona was biting back on the urge to scream while crushing the hand of her husband and all the time wondering what on earth had made her so determined to have a natural birth. She could be unconscious right now instead of having her son rearrange her all her internal organs from the inside out.

 _After her long walk around the park, the nagging ache in her back had still been there. So she had had a long soak in the bath hoping that it would ease away this new annoying symptom of her overdue pregnancy._

 _She had planned to try to follow Doctor Lauren's advice and take things easy. But along with her back pain, she also had a strange restless urge. So she set about rearranging the kitchen cupboards and then settled down for an hour to sharpen every knife she could find, whether they were kitchen utensils or specialized weapons._

"Alright, Fiona, it's time. On the next contraction I want you to push as hard as you can." Lauren's words came just as the Irishwoman felt a tightening in her stomach walls and uterus far more intense than any of the ones that had come before. She bit her lip so hard, blood welled up there.

Just as the sun was rising on the thirty first of December, the loud wail of a healthy newborn filled the delivery room in the Overtown Clinic and to everybody in the room, it was the most beautiful sound ever. Fiona rested on the pillows piled up behind her head and back on the hospital bed, close to exhaustion, but unable to close her eyes and miss the sight of her son, cleaned up, measured and weighed, taking his very first suckle off her breast. Sitting on the edge of the bed, with his arm draped behind her, Michael sat with his eyes filled with moisture, tenderly pressing kisses to her sweat dampened head. He was almost positive he had a cracked knuckle, but that didn't matter.

"Michael, your mom and friends are in the waiting room. Do you want to take your son out to see them while we help Fiona get cleaned up?"

"Fi?" he questioned. In truth, he was unwilling to disturb his little family.

"Go show him off. Before your mom just storms the place," the new mother agreed wearily, letting her eyes drift close.

Wrapping his son up in a blanket and waiting while Lauren placed a tiny white hat over his son's mop of still damp black hair, the dark haired former spy's hands shook as he held the precious bundle against his chest. He had never wanted children, never _ever_ expected to be a father. Even during the pregnancy, a little part of him had held back. But from the moment his child had come into the world, all his reserve had crumbled away.

As he walked slowly towards the side room where Lauren had said his mother and friends were waiting for him, he realized he would die to protect the tiny life sleeping in his arms. As soon as he stepped into the room, he was surrounded, his mom's blue eyes and reaching hands silently begging to be the first to hold the new Baby Westen.

"He's beautiful, Michael," she spoke in a soft tone filled with awe. "He looks just like you."

She peeked under the little hat to check out her grandchild's hair color.

"So have you come up with a name for your little hell raiser yet?" Sam peered over Madeline's shoulder to take his first look at his nephew.

"Jesse, is good name... Just putting it out there," Mr. Porter added from behind Madeline's other shoulder.

"Or Daniel." Agent Dani Pearce smiled warmly, her hand linked with Jesse's.

"We're still thinking about it." Michael interrupted the chat over names as his son opened his blue eyes and blinked at the bright lights of the waiting room. Carefully, taking his child back into his arms, he couldn't help losing himself for a moment in those unfocused dark blue orbs. "I should take him back to Fi," he announced, having decided they had been away for quite long enough.

Feeling sore, stiff and as if she could sleep for a week, Fiona shuffled over on the bed to make room for her husband to lie at her side. Handing her their child, Michael eased his arm behind her back so her head rested on his shoulder. He leaned over and kissed the top of her head and then her forehead.

"I never expected…"

"I know," she answered quietly. "Me neither."

"You said all you wanted your island in the sun," he reminded her with a beaming smile.

" _Our_ little island just got bigger," Fiona sighed, unable to lift her gaze from the infant cradled in her arms.

"Yes," Michael murmured back, with only the barest hitch in his voice, as he reached out to caress the cheek of the perfect addition to their family. "Our _perfect_ island in the sun."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** _This is the sixth part of the 6.01 premiere AU that was originally posted as Chapter 14 in "Reconnecting."_

 _()()()()()()_

 **6.01 AU – This is My Island in the Sun - Part 6**

 _An alternate for Season Six and beyond following on from 5.16 – Depth Perception_

 _()()()()()()_

Miami, July 4th, 2013

All the furniture in the two bedroom apartment on the twentieth floor of the luxury building that Mr. and Mrs Michael Westen called home had been pushed back against the walls, making a large empty square in the middle of the open plan living area. In the center, two figures warily circled each other with their knees flexed, their weight balanced on the balls of their feet, left legs leading and their hands in fists.

"I swear, Michael, if ya don' stop this over protective bullshit am gonna knock yar block off." The lithe auburn haired woman, dressed in nothing more than a sports bra and Lycra shorts, attacked with flying fists in a one-two combination followed by a roundhouse kick, forcing her larger opponent back towards the kitchen area.

"I… don't… know… what you're talking about, Fi." Michael blocked each of her attacks easily while sliding backwards to maintain the distance between them. "We go out."

" _No_ ," she spun around, aiming a reverse kick at his toned abs and followed it up immediately with a back fist to his shaven jaw and another punch to his ribs. " _Us…_ as a family. _You_ go out all the bloody time, once in a blue moon _I_ go out. Ya cannae keep yar son a prisoner in our home! Am sick o' having ta argue with ya every time I wanna take Glenn out ta tha park on me own. Am nae going ta Hialeah! It's jus' across tha road, ya daft man, and am armed ta tha teeth." She attempted to sweep his front leg, but he evaded the sneak attack and pushed his guard hand towards her face to make her back off.

"It's too dangerous…." The ex-spy jerked his head to the side as a tightly packed fist brushed his cheekbone. "He's still too young…" and retaliated with a roundhouse kick of his own. But where his attack was light and lacking most of his power, her blows were coming with everything she had.

"Are you sayin' I can't take care of our son?" she demanded and then Fiona smiled wickedly. She had her husband of nearly eighteen months exactly where she wanted him. One more half step back and his heel would hit the base of the counter top and he'd have nowhere left to go. "It's the fourth and, for the good of our family, Michael Donavan Westen, I am claiming back me independence." Her assault was fluid and lightning fast, back fist, double punch and a snap kick to his throat.

Michael rolled his head to the side to reduce the impact of her fist to his cheek, while using an arm to deflect the punches, before catching hold of a shapely ankle and keeping hold of it just long enough to prove his point. Then he slipped by her, turning the tables. Now his wife was the one with her back to the counter top and little room to maneuver.

" _I'm_ doing this for the good of our family, Fi." He feinted a punch and, when she blocked him, he captured her guard hand, twisted to the side and tossed her over his hip onto the floor. " _You_ heard Pearce. With all the trouble that's been stirred up in Belfast recently, there's reason to believe somebody with a grudge against you could-" His words were cut off as Fiona wrapped her legs about his thighs and twisted. He fell down beside her and in an instant she was astride him.

"It's always something with you and Pearce and _your_ security issues. If anybody from back home was threatening me, I would've had word already." She dismissed his concerns. "I want you to quit throwin' a hissy fit every time I want to take our son somewhere that isn't your mom's or Elsa's..."

Mrs. Westen rocked her hips, sliding her crotch against his flat belly while freeing her long auburn locks from the scrunchie, which had held the mass of hair off her face. "I want you to stop worrying all the time." She shook her head until the untidy mane framed her flushed features. "Yer meant ta be equal partners with Sam an' yet ya keep leaving him ta finish up jobs so ya can come home ta check up on whot am doin'... It's about time ya learned ta relax, Michael. Yer gonna burst an artery!"

If she hadn't been so adamant, her husband might have found her Irish accent rising and ebbing in tune with her temper amusing. He _was_ trying to take her concerns seriously, but Michael was finding her _very close_ proximity _very_ distracting. Her palms pushed under his black sleeveless undershirt. "And it's about time _you_ started trusting that _I_ know what _I'm_ doing." Her thumbs circled his hardening nipples as she felt another part of his anatomy growing underneath her.

"I- trust you, Fiona. It's just -" Muscles tensed, as with a sudden surge of strength, the dark haired mane twisted and then he was the one on top, pinning the petite woman to the floor, his hips grinding against hers while his lips laid claim to her throat with hundreds of butterfly kisses.

"It's… it's… Mi – Michael" His name came out as a sigh, as soft kisses turned more ardent and his teeth found the sweet spot where her neck met her shoulder. "Michael, we – we have to talk about -" His lips found hers, stealing away her words in a deep kiss.

Kiss followed passionate kiss, the sparring session, both physical and verbal, forgotten in the heat of the moment. An undershirt, ripped asunder and thrown aside, was quickly joined by a sports bra as the need for skin to skin contact became too intense to ignore.

"Should we take this to the bedroom?" Michael asked as he gazed at his wife's flushed countenance.

Blue-green eyes stared back at him; her fingers which had been combing through his short dark hair suddenly flexed into claws, urging his head down so his mouth and tongue could get back to what they had been doing before. "Not 'til ya finish whot ya st -"

" _Maaaaaaa! Maaaaaaaa! MAAAAaaaaaa!"_

Both of them froze momentarily in place at the distressed cries coming from their son's room.

"I'll -" Fiona wriggled out from underneath her husband, her hand reaching for her top. But before she could get to her feet, he was already on half way to the door to the nursery.

"I'll get him... You go have a shower and get ready."

" _Maaaaaaaaaaa! MAAAAAaaaaa!_ "

"Get ready for what?"

"I thought you wanted to go out? We'll go down to the park for an hour before heading over to pick up my mom and go to Elsa's."

 **()()()()()**

The former spy turned security consultant didn't wait around to hear what his wife had to say in reply to his offer. Instead he rushed towards the door to their son's room and slipped inside. Since returning to work full-time, he hadn't had as many opportunities to spend time with his baby boy as he would have liked. So when the chance arose, he wasn't about to miss out.

The room was still dark, the black-out curtains successfully doing the job of keeping the early morning sunshine out of the nursery. The only light came from the soft glow of the night light plugged into the wall socket across the room where small hands couldn't reach it.

"Morning, Champ." Michael beamed down at his child. Reaching into the cot, he picked up the screaming seven month old and cradled him to his chest before taking a second to nuzzle the boy's dark curly hair and breathe in his scent. "I'm sorry, did we wake you up? Let's get you changed and then we'll go find your Mommy, huh?"

Placing the infant on the nearby changing station, the ex-covert operative worked with the same efficiency he used to display when field stripping an assault rifle to strip the now happily gurgling infant of his sleep suit and soiled diaper.

 _He still remembered exactly how he had felt the night their baby was born. He remembered the raw emotion which had overtaken him at the sound of his son's first cry and the near overwhelming pride he had felt when he had carried the little one out to show his mother and friends what he and Fiona had created._

 _Later on, sitting on the bed in the Overtown clinic, his exhausted wife resting in his arms as she fed their child from her breast, he had silently made a solemn vow that he would do whatever was necessary to keep that small helpless boy safe from harm or die trying and that urge to safeguard his family had only grown stronger over the ensuing months. He knew what it felt like to think he had lost the center of his universe and he was determined he would never feel that anguish again._

In no time at all, Michael soon had his son cleaned up and dressed in a fresh white cotton vest, which buttoned between his chubby legs, followed by a light pastel blue t-shirt with a stars & stripes motif and darker blue shorts. "I'm sure your mom has something fancier for you to wear when we go visit your Uncle Sam but this will do for now."

Lifting his child up, Michael went over to draw the curtains to let in some daylight before stopping to switch off the night light. "Breakfast time and then I've promised your Mommy we'd visit the park." He filled the infant in on the activities planned for this special morning while young Master Westen tried to suck on his daddy's bare chest.

" 'kay, Glenn…" He opened the fridge door wide so they could both look inside. "I can take a hint."

The man of the house rummaged through the little cups on the second shelf. "I'm sorry, buddy, we're out of blueberry. I promise I'll get more, but you gotta pick another flavor. So what do you say? Strawberry? Peach?" He waited, half tempted to feed the baby the Brenners in the back of fridge. When the soft sucking noises started to change to impatient grizzling, Michael snatched out the first of the tiny baby sized cups of yogurt his hand landed on. "Peach it is."

Passing through the open glass doors which led out on to the wide balcony, Michael took a seat overlooking the marina and, with his offspring sitting on his lap, the former operative negotiated the tricky task of holding a wriggling child and a spoon while also removing the lid from a yogurt cup.

 _By the time Fiona had been ready to leave the Overtown clinic, they still hadn't arrived at a name they could both agree on. Donald for his former commander and Derry for the first place they'd made love hadn't lasted a second after Laura had handed them the birth certificate paperwork with a plea to return it as soon as possible before she'd let them go home._

" _Well, Frank and Patrick are out of the running. What about our grandparents? Me mother's da was Ryan and me da's father was Tierney... What about yours?"_

 _He had shivered at the thought. "We never saw any of my mom's family, except for her sister, Jill, once every coupla of years and there's no way I'm having a kid called Elias, besides that's Nate's second name."_

 _So then the discussion had then moved on to their own middle names._

" _Donavan wouldn't be too bad. What do think about changing Ciaran to Keiran or maybe Kain?" That had been Fiona's suggestion._

 _Talk of his second name had brought up another possibility and the thought had made him smile. Due to a clerical error, he'd had been stuck with his dear old dad's middle name, Allen, throughout the latter half of his CIA career. After he'd come back from Ireland, it had taken another three months for the paperwork to catch up with him as he'd gone immediately out again on another mission to Bosnia._

 _Upon his return from the field, Michael had discovered not only had Frank Allen Westen died the year before, but some pencil pusher had mixed up his own middle name with that of his father on the notices and certificates. His pleas to fix a mistake that was well over a year old at that point had fallen on largely deaf ears. They'd probably be fixing that screw-up on his own death certificate given the way the bureaucracy worked in Washington._

" _What about Glenn Allen Westen?" he'd asked with a touch of mischief in his tone._

 _She had given him such a look. Merely thinking about it made him smile at the memory as she'd_ _replied, "I thought you wanted to stay under the radar?"_

 _He had and he still did. There had been an offer from the CIA to give them whole new identities when his former government employers had discovered Fiona was pregnant and, at the time, he had been so very, very tempted to take them up on it. But something deep inside had stopped him. He hadn't thought it possible, given that he had spent most of his adult life running away from his relatives, but it was strangely important to him that his son grew up with a sense of family._

" _It's a good name…" was the only reply he had offered at the time._

 _Blue-green eyes had stared into his soul and then Fiona had nodded and smiled. "Glenn Allen Westen, it is then."_

"You are a crafty man, Michael Westen."

He had been so engrossed in feeding the baby and keeping curious fingers out of the cup or from grabbing the spoon that he had failed to hear his wife coming up behind him until she whispered in his ear. _She still had it._ The Irishwoman was the only one who ever could sneak up on the spy.

"But you don't fool me with your promises," she continued before kissing his cheek. "If you think a walk in the park before the day has barely begun is gonna satisfy me, you're sorely mistaken."

"Fi, I only want what's best -"

"I know that." She moved another chair over to his side and sat down next to him, taking the baby into her arms as the little one reached out for his mother. "We'll talk about it later – I have plans for tonight."

"Plans…?" He swallowed nervously, wondering what the petite redhead had had time to plan while looking after their boisterous boy.

"Don't concern yourself, Michael. I promise you, it will be fun... Now, go have your shower - oh and you need to give your mother a call. She rang me in a terrible state, something about Nate and Ruth."

He winced. Nate and Ruth arguing was nothing new, so it had to be something slightly more serious if his mom was calling him about it this early. Madeline hadn't changed much, but she was trying to respect the fact there was an infant around and everyone needed more sleep… trying anyway…

He paused to watch as his wife opened the nursing bra, which had replaced the sports version she had been wearing earlier. The sight of his son feeding never failed to enchant him, the look of adoration which passed between mother and child holding him captive.

"Michael, your shower and your mom…?"

"I'll call her first or she'll -" As if on cue, the phone in the lounge began to ring. "I'll get it."

 **()()()()()**

Fiona leaned back in the chair and stared pensively at the few soft fluffy white clouds which were leisurely making their way across the blue sky. She had everything she had ever wished for and a whole lot more. She glanced down at her son's mop of hair, spotting the glint of deep auburn strands amongst the darkness. Glenn had his daddy's blue eyes, but she was sure she was seeing the beginning of his Glenanne heritage coming through.

As if realizing he was being observed, Glenn looked up into his mother's eyes, just for a second before returning to his breakfast. Yes, she was blessed indeed and content, or she would be if she could just solve one tiny problem.

 _They had both been a bit of a mess when they had returned home with their newborn, although mess wasn't really the right word, shell shocked fitted them better, especially after seventy two hours without sleep as six pounds of wailing infant kept them on their toes._

 _They had both read all the books they could get their hands on regarding child rearing and had been positive they knew all the theory on how to care for their baby. Unfortunately for all those concerned, Glenn hadn't been made privy to the knowledge held in the baby manuals and he didn't have a clue on how he was supposed to behave. As Michael was fond of pointing out, no plan ever survives the first hours on the battlefield, so they had been forced to change and adapt to fit in with their baby's needs._

 _She had been both surprised and grateful that her husband had wanted to be so involved in his son's life and hadn't gone scurrying off back to work at the first opportunity, especially as he had been working from early in the morning until late at night before the boy's birth. She had found his concerns for both her and Glenn's safety sweet while she had been recovering from childbirth. But now seven months later, the constant attention, more so the paranoia, was wearing very thin indeed._

A sharp pain in her right breast made the petite redhead gasp and grimace. "Biting the one feeding you isn't a good move, baby boy." Fiona gently eased her son away from her sore nipple and examined the indentations in her flesh made by her infant's two tiny teeth.

Glenn looked up at her again, his rosebud lips in a pout while tiny hands reached up and caught hold of her hair, tangling his fingers in her freshly washed locks in an effort to investigate his interesting find.

"I can see it's going to be one of those days." She mused as she carefully freed her hair and flicked it back over her shoulder and out of the way of curious fingers. "How about we go back inside and you can play on the floor?" Getting to her feet, she carried the boy back inside while rubbing his back to burp him before going over to where his box of toys had been moved to, making space for his parents early morning sparring session.

The former gun runner turned loving mother was still sitting on the floor with her son when Michael came back from his shower. Wearing only a pair of old jeans, he was rubbing a towel over his short black hair. "Nate and Ruth won't be coming to the party," he announced in a pained tone.

"Really? I thought you'd be relieved." Spending time with his brother's family was definitely not on Mr. Westen's _favorite-things-to-do_ list. Learning to deal with his mom had been enough of a battle.

"Normally, yes, except I don't think my mom's going to stop talking about them all day. Apparently, Ruth has gone back to Las Vegas. She took Charlie with her and Nate is chasing after them.

"About time," Fiona muttered, glancing away from Glenn for a second. The train wreck marriage of the other Mr. and Mrs. Westen was like a bad soap opera, which in her opinion had run on long after it should have been cancelled and the lead characters sent off for therapy.

"Mom said Nate was really trying this time…" He shrugged as he came over to join them on the tile. "Gee, I can't imagine why Ruth didn't believe him this time. I mean, seriously, how many times do you have to fall off the wagon before you use up _all_ your credibility? And I don't just mean the drinking. Did you know he's been gambling again, apparently since last year?"

She closed her eyes and let her husband's words flow over her head. In the last few months, she'd had to listen to Michael snipe at his mother as Madeline defended her youngest son's life choices while the eldest son pointed out all his younger sibling's short comings.

The Irishwoman did have a certain amount of sympathy for the other Mrs. Westen. Although Michael rarely drank and never to excess or gambled with anything, other than his own life, she knew all too well what it was like to live with addiction, or in Michael's case obsession.

The only difference between the brothers was, whereas the younger Westen seemed determined to drown himself and all those around him with debts, loan sharks and copious amounts of alcohol and drugs, the older one had arguably found a more useful outlet for his personality flaws. But the eldest could be just as determined when he got something into this head. Years of chasing his burn notice and international cabals had morphed into a conspiracy to keep her and their offspring hostage in their own home, smothering his family in an effort to keep them safe from the outside world.

"Let's not talk about Nate's problems right now." She smiled sweetly at her spouse. "Let's talk about how you're going to give me three hours to make arrangements for our own private celebrations later and then when I return how you will, without a single comment about the dangers of life outside these four walls, take a stroll with me and Glenn about the park and let your son enjoy watching the puppet show and all the other street entertainers." The smile was still in place, but steely eyed determination had replaced the sweet expression of earlier.

The ex-guerrilla watched as Michael fought against his natural inclination to do exactly what she had warned him against, his mouth opening and closing with words of caution begging to come out.

"Three hours?" he gulped. "That's a long time."

"It's a big surprise I have for you." She jumped to her feet and handed her husband a fluffy soft toy in the shape of a blue smiling horse. She pressed a kiss to the top of his still damp hair and then declared, "Have fun, boys, an' no excuses... cuz when I get back, we're goin' out as a family."

 **()()()()()**

Three hours and fifteen minutes later, Fiona was on her way home in the elevator travelling up to the twentieth floor. The time she had given herself had barely been enough for what she had planned for the evening. Wiping her hands down the front of her jeans, she tried to remove the last vestiges of evidence of what she had been up to. Tonight was going to be special. The former PIRA operative was going to remind the man in her life exactly who he had married.

"You're late." Michael abandoned the book he had been reading to come to her side. "Did you get everything done?"

"More or less," she answered evasively and gave him a peck on the cheek. "Where's Glenn?"

"He fell asleep about an hour ago... I couldn't keep him up and I didn't think you'd want him all grumpy when we go to the park." He defended his actions as the blue-green orbs which stared back at him had narrowed dangerously.

"As long as we're still going out... What time did you tell your mom we would pick her up?" She was already calculating how long they would have to themselves.

"I thought about that after you left, so I called Jesse and explained to him we wanted to take Glenn out to do some family stuff before going to Elsa's and he offered to pick up my mom... _Sooo_ ," He looked into her eyes. "We can do whatever _you_ want until we have to go over to Star Island."

Fiona couldn't help but smile back, as he carefully moved a few strands of hair off her face. "Whatever _I_ want..?" she repeated his words back to him.

Just by staring into her spouse's deep blue eyes, she could see exactly how the ex-spy wanted to spend the extra time he had bought them. But that would take the edge off the evening she had put so much effort into organizing.

"It's past twelve. We should get Glenn up. By the time he's had some lunch, it'll be nearly one and Sam was saying yesterday he wants us all on board the yacht before four."

Michael sighed heavily and dramatically dropped his chin to his chest. But he was soon over his disappointment. As he raised his head, she could see the playful sparkle was still in his eyes. She stroked her palm down his chest to the waistband of his jeans and then Fiona used his belt to pull him in so she could place a soft kiss to his bottom lip.

"Going to the park, especially on this day, is all part of being a family. You've wrapped us up in cotton wool long enough, Michael. Your son needs to see more than these four walls and the view over balcony."

"I know, Fi. It's just -" He shrugged his shoulders and drew her in for another kiss.

"The park, Michael…" She reminded him with a light slap on his bottom. "Our play time will come later."

She went to walk towards the nursery, but he spun her back around. "How about a little clue... Er, you know, so I – er… Do I need to bring anything for this surprise?"

 _Ah, now there was a look she knew all too well; the interrogation was about to begin_. She shook her head.

"Because if we're going dancing…" He paused, looking for a reaction. But the petite redhead knew what he was doing and just continued to blandly smile and shake her head. "Or somewhere expensive I should wear a suit?" No response. "Ooorrr, if we're going to be outside, should I pack a blanket?"

"If I tell you, it won't be a surprise." The Irishwoman casually dismissed his questions with a flick of her hair and pushed open the nursery door. "Go see to your son's lunch, Michael... And don't be bothering Sam or Jesse either. They know nothing about tonight – it's going to be our little secret."

 **()()()()()**

The stroll in the park was as bad as Michael suspected it was going to be: crowds of people on the footpaths, many of them passing by his family far too close for his comfort, children running here there and everywhere, screaming and shouting, balls flying through the air, dogs barking and that was all before his over stretched nerves had to deal with all the distractions of grown men and women with their faces concealed under layers of make up or even worse hidden all together inside suits which disguised them as children's favorite TV characters.

 _He had once thought vacation spots were hell on earth, with everybody from some place else and nowhere decent to hide a gun in a bathing suit. But this was far, far worse, at least back then he hadn't had to worry about who was skulking inside a Sponge Bob Square Pants costume._

Consoling himself with the knowledge that along with his SIG hidden in the waist band of his jeans concealed by his untucked shirt and a Glock 26 in an ankle holster, he had also placed a tracker on the stroller and another into the waistband of Glenn's shorts just in case the unthinkable happened.

Glancing at the stunning redhead in a light blue sundress and four inch wedge heeled sandals at his side, the ex-spy wasn't quite sure what she had brought along, although he had spotted the Walther in her purse and the throwing knife she was wearing in a sheath high on her right thigh.

"Smile, Michael." His spouse shot him a sideways glance. "This is supposed to be a wonderful day, our son's first Independence Day."

"I'm smiling, see?" He barred his teeth in his patented Michael Westen smile.

"But, not on the inside," she countered. "Smile on the inside too, Michael... Oh look! The puppet show is about to begin, come on."

They stayed out for two hours after the puppet show, which Michael spent the whole time acting as if he were on bodyguard duty in a hostile location. Finally, they found a quiet shaded spot on the grass and ate ice cream, laughing at the mess Glenn managed to make as they shared the creamy treat with their offspring.

Back at the apartment, they worked quickly, showering and changing their own clothes and then gathering up all the equipment needed for a seven month old to spend a night away from home.

"Are we sure that letting my mom look after Glenn overnight is a good idea?" Michael asked as he reluctantly picked up the as-yet-unused travel cot in its carry bag in one hand and an overstuffed canvas bag holding baby clothes, diapers, and all the other necessities for a baby sleepover in the other.

"Your mom has looked after Charlie and he survived the experience. Besides she won't be alone with him. Sam and Elsa are staying on the yacht too."

She knew what was wrong because, in this instance, she was just as apprehensive as the former covert operative. This was going to be the first night where neither one of them wasn't going to be there for Glenn. It was a massive step. But with their lives, there were undoubtedly going to be times when they were both going to have to be away.

Fiona had done everything she could to ensure that while they were gone having some much needed alone time, Glenn was going to be kept safe. The redhead grinned as she remembered the conversation between the boat owner and Michael's best friend. Although Elsa hadn't exactly approved, the older woman had understood when her guest had requested Sam be allowed to bring his favorite assault rifle on board.

" _Look at it this way, baby. We break Mikey of all this clingy over protective BS and then we can take that trip to Aruba and not have to worry about my partner wrecking the business we've just spent a year building up," had been how Mr. Axe had sold his girlfriend on the extra ordinance he wanted to stowaway on her fancy boat._

"Will we be nearby? You know, er… just in case... I mean, I've tried to work out where we'll be staying. I'm guessing up to an hour away from here, but that leaves a lot of places."

"Glenn will be guarded by an ex-SEAL on a yacht surrounded by the ocean with a crew of six on board who would all die for that little boy... Now stop asking questions about tonight." She pressed a finger on the call button for the elevator and Michael sucked on his bottom lip and let the matter drop, at least for now.

 **()()()()()**

Sam Axe stood on the upper deck of his lady friend's luxury yacht and waved a greeting to his two best-friends before heading down to greet them on the jetty in front of the Star Island Italian-style mansion.

"Hey, Mikey, Fi, and how's my favorite nephew doin'? You ready to go on an adventure, sailor?" The former SEAL turned chief security consultant for the Dearbon Hotel Group leaned down to the baby carrier being held between the couple and ruffled the infant's dark curls.

"Not too much of an adventure, Sam. Boring is good too," Michael interrupted.

 _They had all been worried about Michael's latest self-appointed mission and deep down they had all known they were somewhat to blame. You can't tell a man like Michael Westen that the love of his life has been killed, taken down in a hail of bullets doing a job he had sent her on, and expect him to just get over it, even if at first it looked like he had done precisely that. However, after the arrival of the youngest Westen, the former spy had taken the role of a doting father cum guard dog to a whole new level in an effort to make sure nobody got close enough to harm his family._

Straightening up, the retired naval commander made a big show of looking over his buddy's shoulder. "Okay, fella, who are you and what have you done with my pal, Mike Westen? Cuz the guy I knew would have been the first one out lookin' to stir up trouble."

"He's still here, Sam." the younger man grinned. "But seven months old might be a bit young to be thinking about invading Cuba."

"How about a little bit of piracy along the Bahamas?" Fiona laughed. "It's been a long time since I committed any acts of mayhem at sea."

"Come on," Sam slapped his former brother-in-arms on the back and then reached between his friends to take over carrying the newest member of their team. "Everybody else is aboard and getting settled in."

"Jesse and Dani staying overnight?" Michael asked, obviously happy at the thought of having the former counter intelligence agent and his CIA officer girlfriend on board for the night.

"Uh-huh, they've both got a long weekend free. So we're thinking about taking a cruise around the Gulf, do a bit of sunbathing, fishing – _diving_."

"Just the four of you..?"

"You wanted come along? Gee, Mike, I dunno..." He tried to keep up the act, but couldn't quite manage it, not when he could read the disappointment in the other man's eyes. "It's okay, your mom brought a bag of clothes for the three of you. Fi was pretty sure you wouldn't want to throw away a chance to go scuba diving."

Once onboard, the couple went straight down to the cabins. While Fiona changed into a white bikini she hadn't had a chance to wear for nearly two years and also slathered Glenn in a thick layer of sunscreen, Michael knocked and entered his mother's suite with the travel cot, mattress and blankets which would be his boy's bed while they were at sea.

Madeline kissed her oldest son on the cheek and then the first words out of her mouth were just what he had expected. "Have you called your brother yet? He's a mess, that – that _woman_ just ran off in the middle of the night. I don't understand how somebody could just disappear like that."

He was momentarily grateful that Fiona wasn't in the cabin, as she surely would have had an opinion about people named Westen vanishing in the middle of the night without a word.

"Maybe she just wanted to stop all Charlie's things from ending up in the pawn shop." He had the cot out of the bag and was locking the supports in place.

"Michael! Nate has a problem! And she knew what he was like when they got -"

"Right, because they met at a black jack table. Ma, they got married too soon and then when everything started falling apart, they had the bright idea that a baby would solve their problems." Pulling out a cotton sheet from the bag, Michael covered the thin mattress and placed it inside.

"That's not fair, Michael. You don't have to be so judgemental. You know, if Ruth was more like Fiona -"

He tried to choke down the laughter but was unable to hold it in. The thought of Nate Westen with a woman like Fiona Glenanne…

"If – If -" He gulped and swallowed and then tried again, his mother's indignation only making things worse. Mama Bear Westen crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her oldest boy.

"If I lost my business…" He referred to the limousine service, which had also cost Madeline a lot of money and had left his younger brother bankrupt. "If I gambled away the money my son needed for food and to put a roof over his head, if I did half the things Nate did, Fiona would have killed me ten times over." Mr. Westen finally got the words out in a matter of fact manner.

As he watched his mother's expression, it was almost as if he could see the wheels turning in her head. "Well, maybe instead of judging him, you could have offered him a job."

He closed his eyes and begged for some sort of divine intervention. "Mom, I -"

A sharp rap on the door saved him from replying and when Jesse stuck his head inside the door, Michael could have kissed him.

"Hey Mike, Maddy, I'm making some of my world famous margaritas and I remembered how much you like them. Care to join me on deck?" The tall shaven headed man held the cabin door open for the woman he considered his surrogate mother and, as the elderly blonde left the room, he looked over her head to the man who was like an older brother to him and winked.

"Thank you," Mr. Westen mouthed and followed his mom and his brother from another mother up on to the lower deck.

Once all the luggage was stowed away and the guests were all helping themselves to the snacks and drinks that the crew of the _Easy Peasy_ had laid out, Elsa Dearbon, with her lover Sam Axe at her side, took the controls and pointed the eighty five foot yacht out to sea.

Elsa's love of the sea and the small flotilla of boats she kept throughout the world had at first been one of the many things that had attracted Sam to the mega-wealthy hotelier. But what had started as another one of his seductions had quickly turned to so much more for the one-time ladies' man as he had begun to see past the money and possessions to the vulnerable woman underneath. _Boy Toy_ and _Big Momma_ were names long ago put to rest as they had realized what they had was so much more than a wild fling.

"You really think one night away from Glenn and a few days cruising around the Gulf will be enough?" Sam whispered in the ear of the one and only woman of his dreams.

"I know what it's like, Sammy. After I had Evan, I got lost for a while... It's so easy to forget who you are when you have a brand new life that's wholly dependent on you." She leaned back against his chest and pulled one of his arms around her waist. "They both just need a little reminder of who they are, that's all."

"I hope you're right, baby." He nuzzled her ear, breathing in the flowery scent of her perfume and delighting in the way her firm taut bottom wriggled against his pants as she responded to the touch of his hand squeezing her waist. "Cuz I'm looking forward to spending time with you on that very private…" He nipped her earlobe. "And very secluded beach in Aruba you was telling me all about."

For a few more minutes, the couple enjoyed their time away from their guests. But it wasn't long until the yacht's captain came up onto the deck, clearing his throat and coughing to announce his presence before he actually came into sight.

"Er… Ms. Dearbon, we're heading into busy waters. What with the shipping lanes and -"

"That's fine, Captain Merkel, please take over. Thank you for letting me have the controls."

As the yacht cruised out to the spot Captain Merkel had assured his employer would give them the best view of the various firework displays due to take place throughout the night, the group of friends spent the time catching up. Though Sam and Michael worked together and Michael saw Dani Pearce regularly, as she kept him updated on any threats to his family, mostly their busy lives meant they didn't get to meet up as regularly as they used to.

"So, people, I think now is as good a time as any to break our news." Jesse got to his feet and pulled the willowy, dark haired Ms. Pearce up to stand at his side. "This one here gotta promotion a few weeks ago. She's gonna be heading up her own team of analysts working on a very special project in DC – and I'm going with her. Securicorp is transferring me to their office there – _annnd_ we've just put a deposit down on a little apartment. It's only a one bedroom place, but it'll be _ours_."

Everybody was stunned, but just for a moment.

"Wow! That's great news, brother." Sam was the first to react, jumping up to pump Jesse's hand and plant a kiss on Dani's cheek before the others joined in.

The talk then turned to the logistics of making the move north and how Dani had been offered the new position over three weeks ago but, until Jesse had managed to secure a transfer, they had decided not to mention the move.

Time flew by and as the skies darkened, Michael carried Glenn up onto the upper deck. With Fiona at his side and the rest of their friends and family around them, they watched the first bright light whiz across the sky, followed almost immediately by other bright showers of lights in every color imaginable.

Glenn stared wide eyed up at the brilliant display, his tiny hands gripping his daddy's shirt tightly as his mouth opened and closed in wonder.

"He likes it," Michael commented with a grin.

"How could he not?" Fiona answered her husband, as she reached up to place a kiss on her baby boy's cheek. "He's half Glenanne."

Half an hour later, after Michael had cuddled and kissed his son goodnight, Fiona carried the infant down to the cabin which he would be sharing with his grandmother and following behind her came Sam Axe, who took several furtive looks over his shoulder before speaking.

"Okay lady, I've got the supplies you asked for. They're all in the inflatable. I'm not even gonna ask what you two are up to... But can you try an' leave at least some parts of Miami standing?"

"Oh, Miami is perfectly safe, Sam," the petite Irishwoman smirked. "I can't guarantee the same for Michael."

The older man held up his hands, pleading for the redheaded pixie not to say another word on the subject. He headed back to the upper deck to make sure that his buddy made it onto the other boat.

With Glenn settled down until he would wake for his late night feed, which his mom had left for Madeline to give him in a bottle, and a baby monitor set up beside the travel cot to alert the people on deck if he awoke, Fiona pressed a light kiss to her son's forehead and crept out of the room.

"Go on, Mikey, we'll take care of the Big Guy, don't you worry," Mr. Axe assured his best friend as he helped the Irish spitfire down into the smaller vessel. "Go enjoy yourselves."

"Are you sure you-" _Just the fact that Fiona had accepted the older man's help was troubling him._

"Yes, Michael, everything is fine." His woman interrupted the dark haired man's query by and pulling the cord to start the engine of the four-man inflatable they were borrowing for the evening. "We'll be back before the morning."

With the wind in her hair and sea spray flying up into her face, Fiona couldn't help the ear to ear grin which nearly split her face in two. It had been three years since she had last been skimming over the waves, only that time she had been armed to the teeth and happily thinking about what she was going to spend all the money on she was going to make selling the P90s she had just stolen from John Beck, a new arms dealer in town who was out to take over the trade belonging to all the smaller dealers such as herself.

"We're going to Cutler Bay?"

She barely caught his words. Turning her head slightly, the ex-terrorist nodded and went back to navigating her way past all the other vessels out to watch the celebrations without slowing down one iota. This was a chance to have some fun, let their hair down and, most importantly for her husband, to be reminded that he hadn't married some delicate little woman who needed to be protected from the big bad world.

Slowing down only when the lights on the jetty came into sight, she directed the small craft towards a quiet dark corner. As Michael stood up and jumped up onto the floating deck to tie up their transport, the former gun runner noticed for the first time the bag of supplies had been opened and obviously rooted through.

"Fi, what exactly have you got planned?" he asked as he took her hand and helped her ashore.

"Think back," she suggested, handing him the heavy bag to carry. Then, when he obviously couldn't come up with an answer, she took pity and gave him a clue. "Me birthday, Dublin '98...?.. You made me a cake and then we-"

"Okay, that explains the Reddi-Whip... Though I think I had to use Dairy Whip… But it doesn't explain the thermite and C-4."

"All will be revealed... Come on, I have a car waiting for us out on the road."

The Irishwoman picked up her speed, eager to get the celebrations started. After what felt like being locked up for the last year, she wanted nothing more than to let loose and raise some hell. Reaching the road, her heart began to race. Her friend Marcus Dwyer hadn't let her down. The man was an arms dealer and explosive expert by trade, but he had a lot of children, many who had diversified into other fields, one such was a master car thief and Marcus' son had found exactly what she had asked for: a seven year old silver BMW convertible.

"As you got me such a pitiful present for my birthday this year, I got the Reddi-Whip to remind you how we used to celebrate special occasions and I got this car -"

"Because it looks identical to the one you stole and I drove on our first date in Miami," Michael filled the gap and held the passenger door open for her to step inside.

"What else d'ya remember of that night?" She batted her eyelashes at him.

"You wanted to feel the wind in your hair, go fast and have some fun." He listed her commands for their first night together in over a year. "I take it your orders haven't changed?" He flashed his teeth in a shark-like smile as his memory flooded his brain with all the details of that crazy night.

"This is all about the fun, Michael. We've just gone fast and can you see the state o' me hair? Let's go have some _real_ fun."

Her husband slid behind the wheel of the sports car and his face showed his surprise when, instead of having to twist wires together, he found a key in the ignition.

"I have very talented friends..." was her cryptic reply. "Drive, Michael, show me you haven't lost your touch for a bit of mayhem.

The convertible's wheels spun as the engine roared and then the silver car took off, leaving a gravel and dust cloud trail behind them.

"You have a destination in mind?" He kept up the pressure on the gas pedal as he worked the clutch and gear lever until they were rocketing along a long straight back road away from the bay.

Fiona raised her arms above her head, letting the wind rush over her skin, her long auburn hair was blown in all directions and, for the first time in a long time, she felt truly free. It was almost like being drunk as she let go of all her frustrations of day-to-day life.

Twisting in her seat, she wrapped her arms about the man whose concentration was solely focussed on keeping the car on the road as he drove at increasingly reckless speeds. With her mouth against his ear, she began to whisper.

"D'ya think ya still have it in ya? D'ya think ya can still keep yar eyes and all yar attention on tha road whotever I say or do? Or have ya lost yar edge? D'ya recall thot time in Derry?" she taunted him as the vehicle flew over the unlit asphalt.

"Two Americans wa' rumored ta be comin ta visit thar Emerald Isle ta see whot all their fund raising had been used fer," she continued, her breath sending chills down his spine. "Yar warn't thar ta stop 'em, oh no, jus' ta take thar photographs ta hand over ta thot bastid Englishman Chambers. But befer tha boat made inta the harbour, some idjit with a lorry load o' tobacco got caught by tha customs. Tha whole bloody area wa' flooded wit' cops an' we ended up o' all places round tha back o' tha cop shop..." She slipped a hand inside the open neck of his shirt, her palm covering his left breast, her long fingers massaging the sculpted muscle as she continue with her tale.

"I'd told ya befer about me one stay in gaol, how I had got beaten up by a couple o' proddie girls. I swear tha bastids put me in a cell wit' tham knowing whot would happen. And ya said, I needed a new memory." She ran the tip of her tongue over the lobe of his ear and was delighted by the way he shuddered.

"Ya shoved me back against the wall and unbuttoned me coat…" She removed her hand just enough so as to be able to flick the buttons of his shirt open. _"_ And pulled me jeans down about me ankles..." Nimble fingers jerked his belt buckle free and let the zipper down on his pants. "And then…" Her fingers walked their way down his belly and inside his exposed underpants.

And that was when the BMW skidded off the blacktop and came to a stop half-hidden amongst the undergrowth at the side of the road.

"Mi-chael!" His large hands cupped her cheeks and pulled her roughly into a passionate kiss which near took her breath away. When he finally let her go, he stroked a hand down her cheek and over her breast.

"And then…" he gulped.

"And then ya gave me sommit else to think about whenever I had ta visit Derry."

"And now…?" There was a rough edge to his voice as his hands cupped her breasts over the material of her top.

"An' now it's time to make some more memories." She shoved him back hard enough that she drove the air from his lungs. "Cuz right then ya had me hold our guns while you turned me about -"

 _The memory of pushing her against the cold bricks, pushing into her while they were hidden away_ …went straight to the root of him and he gasped a breath as she pulled the waistband of his boxers down as low as could with him semi reclined in his seat. The red headed siren leaned over the gear stick to take him all the way into her mouth, her tongue swirling around his hardening length as she led him towards heaven.

She stopped suddenly and smiled up at him. "D'ya remember driving away from Benny's, yar foot on tha gas while me mouth wa' on…"

And she swallowed him down to the base and hummed, reveling into the deep groan of desire that tore from his lips. It had been so long since they could both let go, and this was truly letting go. Out in the open in a stolen car, every single feeling was heightened, every nerve singing out in a pleasure overload. She could barely remember the last time they took such a risk.

His fingers were in her hair, gripping and pulling as his breath became more ragged. She could taste him and, when she took a breath of her own, she was surrounded by his musky scent. He tensed, bucking underneath her, the play of his thigh muscles still encased in soft denim rubbing against the palms of her hands, and when he came, she felt a warmth spread deep inside as she nearly followed him into bliss.

Kissing her way up his heaving chest, she gazed up at him.

"Now it's your turn." She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips which still tasted of him.

The tousled haired Irish firecracker laughed at his confused look; so with a little bit of maneuvering she got him to change places with her.

"Now I drive and you talk. Tell me a story, Michael. Tell me about - tell me why ya really followed me thot first night in Miami."

"Fi, I… Fiona…" Whatever he was about to say had to wait as for a few seconds, as it was all he could do to hold on as the hellcat behind the wheel sent the car into reverse to get it out of the bushes and back on the road. Once all four wheels were back on the black top, she stamped down hard on the accelerator, making the engine roar its complaints about such treatment into the wind.

"Do you need me to start you off?" she smirked... "I'd helped you out with your F.B.I problem, without having to set fire to anybody mind you, and you'd promised me a meal in return." She took a sharp bend, the back of the high performance car fishtailing viciously as she fought with the steering wheel and the poor grip quality of four badly worn tires.

"No! No, Fi..." She wasn't sure if it was her driving or that he didn't need any more prompting. But nonetheless he gave up on straightening his clothes and moved over in the passenger seat until he was pressed up to her side, drapingan arm over her shoulders.

"We had a nice meal at that little Japanese place on -" He stopped as her hand landed on his thigh, swallowed thickly and started again, finally getting what she wanted as her finger nails pressed into his leg.

"I missed you, I missed the way you smelled, your scent…it's…." He leaned in and kissed her cheek. "I knew I'd made a mistake and since I put your tracker in your phone, I came looking for you to say I was sorry."

"You missed my scent?" The smirk stayed in place. _He was really bad at this_ …"What else did you miss about me, Michael?" But then he surprised her when he next spoke.

"Everything... When you're not by my side, I miss everything about you. But I didn't know it back then. Back then, I just knew I had to find you."

His lips found her cheek again, while his free hand found the hem of her skirt, walking up the soft silky skin of her inner thigh.

"When I walked in that bar, I was ready to shoot that guy pawing at you."

His fore finger edged under the lace of her French cut knickers, brushing against the warm wet flesh of her folds. "But it was more entertaining watching you put him down... You were mad that night."

His mouth latched onto her throat sucking and licking, while his finger slipped inside her hot, tight sheath. "I thought we were going to have to fight our way out."

His breath was like a balm caressing her freshly ravished throat, the flood of sensations distracting her from the task of keeping the car on the road. _Had they really slipped so far?_ Her foot eased off the gas pedal as her lover added a second finger between her legs, the friction making her limbs tremble and her brain momentarily white out.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked huskily. as one finger found the little bundle of nerves deep inside her.

"Dontcha dare..." she managed to gasp, shifting in the seat to give him more access, getting the decelerating vehicle off the road somehow. The fresh air, the danger and the roughness of the palm she was grinding against all adding to the euphoria that she rode all the way up before coming back down into a soft cushion of ecstasy and bringing the Beamer to a stop.

Michael pulled her into his arms, pressing hundreds of gossamer soft kisses on her face as she took back control over her body.

"If we keep doing this, we'll never make it home in one piece." He stroked her cheek and gently tried to rearrange her wind swept hair.

"It donnae matter now, we're here," she sighed as her heart rate finally started slow.

"Here?" He looked out, but in the pitch black of the landscape, he couldn't see what she meant.

"Where are we, Michael?"

Frowning he looked again. Then, in the distance, he could just make out the line of a high fence and on the other side of the fence, a large structure reaching up into the sky.

"It's the junkyard I took you to that night."

"Yes, it is." Moving with a purpose, Fiona got back behind the wheel of the car and drove the last half mile to the exact place where he had broken in before.

"Were you ever in Belfast at this time of year?" she asked as she got out of the car and picked up the bag of supplies.

"Yeah, sure... Fi, what are we doing out here? I thought –?"

"When I was growing up, after we moved to that house off the Falls Road, this time of year we used to play a game."

He followed her to the gap in the fence and held the chain link back so she could slip inside the perimeter and then joined her. Now, he could make out ten wrecked cars piled up one on top of the other, making a rather unsteady looking tower.

"Tha Protestants would gather up all tha wood they could find or steal and on tha night of tha twelfth, they would light tha fires ta commemorate tha victory of thar William of Orange over tha Catholic King James... Is any o' this coming back ta ya?"

He nodded, a little sadness creeping into his expression as he thought of the violence he had witnessed on the streets during the marching season.

"Well, a lot of us kids used to get together and go out and steal the wood the other side had stocked up. Every year we'd find a way past their sentries and what we couldn't take, we'd destroy."

She searched through the bag and brought out the thermite and several blocks of C-4.

"Then tha year after me brother Pat wa' murdered, Colin came up with this wonderful idea."

She began placing the pieces of C-4 under a line of junked cars near the unstable looking tower.

"So, instead o' goin' after tha wood, we went out stealing tha cars belonging ta all the firemasters and thar seconds and took tham ta a scrapyard. It wa' tha dead of night, so nobody wa' thar. Then Colin had got hold of the instructions ta work tha crane and we piled tha Orange men's cars one on top o' tha other and then me and Sean placed a very special bomb in tha one at tha base o' tha tower."

"Fiona, how in hell did you do this? Does the guy who owns this place know what you're planning?"

"I paid him a load o' money ta let me have his scrapyard fer tha night and fer ham ta leave tha cars just as ya see 'em. Tis fine, Michael. Now let me get back ta me story."

Before he could stop her, the petite redhead had stuck one more block of explosive in the junker at the bottom of the pile and then, standing on tip toe, added the thermite slightly higher up.

"We need ta stand back... A long way back..." she added. "When the bomb went off, it was heard all over Belfast... Liam threw a fit. I think he mighta killed tha lot o' us, but Claire talked him down... She came out wit' har biology course work an' demanded he help har learn tha circulatory system."

She held up a trigger switch and then dropped it in to her husband's hand.

"Give me fireworks, Michael."

Sucking in a deep breath, her spouse did as she asked.

 _BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!_ A series of explosions blew each of the cars in the line-up into the air before sending them crashing back down to earth and then the final massive **BOOM** which caused the ground under their feet to shake as the tower made of broken wrecks lit up the night sky before toppling over, scattering burning twisted metal all over the ground.

More explosions went off as the vehicles continued to burn and, when Michael looked into his lover's eyes, he saw the woman he had first fell in love with, a hard, fiery, crazy paramilitary with a good heart and who was far better than he deserved.

"Isn't it beautiful, Michael?" Her blue green eyes shone with delight as she gazed at the chaos she had created.

"You're beautiful." He caught hold of her arm, wanting nothing more at that moment than to possess his flame haired goddess.

At his touch, Fiona threw herself into his arms, their mouths crashing together, tongues swirling and dancing in a battle. Seconds later, she had peeled his unbuttoned shirt off his arms and tossed it onto the ground, shortly afterwards her own top was discarded too, the heat all around them only adding to the heat they were creating between them.

"Come with me," Fiona commanded, taking her dark haired lover's hand, pulling and dragging him across the yard, dodging the smaller fires which burnt brightly, the bare skin of her upper body glowing in the light.

On the other side of the junkyard, waiting just inside the tall metal gates, was a shiny new black stretch limousine with dark tinted windows.

"I thought we'd go to a hotel, or back to -"

"And waste all these lovely fireworks? No, we're nae fleeing the law this time and yer nae going any whar tonight, Michael Westen... Yer all mine till mornin'."

"And the limo…?"

"Our home away fram home fer tonight... Do ya nae remember I told ya I'd never done it in a limo befer?"

The memories flooded back, _dancing with her at that downtown nightclub, driving back to the loft as quickly as the speed limits would allow, coming back home from chasing down everyone on the NOC list, everyone but Kessler, who was dug in down in Caracas…_

"Go get tha bag and find tha Reddi-Whip, Michael," she instructed, pulling the limo keys from her pocket. She had called in a lot of markers with Marcus Dwyer tonight, including keeping the police from investigating her little fireworks show. _Amazing what privacy a little permit could buy_. "Ya can start wit' dessert if ya want another piece o' thot pie ya had at me twenty eighth birthday..."

Mr. Westen stood there stock still for a moment, getting lost in the past. He remembered that night for all sorts of reasons, but mostly because it was less than a week later that all hell had broken loose when Fiona Glenanne had discovered Michael McBride was just a carefully crafted lie.

By the time he had returned with the bag and their discarded clothing, Fiona had disappeared into the car. Staring at the large vehicle, the former covert operative was reminded of his youth. Sex in a car had been a regular occurrence back in the day, but now that he was older with better options...

The car door opened and a slender toned limb appeared.

"Michael, why are you keeping me waiting? Didn't I give you enough fireworks?"

She stepped out into the open, naked as the day she was born, her long hair a tousled mess. Coming to a stop in front of him, she wordlessly reached up to wrap her arms about his neck before sealing her lips over his. They both smelt of cordite and fires, chaos and mayhem as she pressed her bare skin against his clothed body.

"I miss this," she whispered into his ear. "I've missed you." Her hands were pushing down his pants and he didn't try to stop her this time.

"I've been here the whole time, Fi." Though admittedly, standing completely exposed in a junkyard in the middle of the night surrounded by burning debris was not something he'd have normally considered.

"No, tha man who would blow up a junkyard cuz I asked him too hasn't been around for a while." She brazenly stroked along the length of his manhood. "But not anymore…"

"Well, he's har now, luv." The smile which lit up his face and the way his hands gripped her waist and then snaked around her body told her that her old Irish lover was back. When they kissed this time, it was harder, faster, more reckless than they had been for months, their bodies melding together naturally as he pushed her backwards to the more comfortable back seat of the luxury car.

Settling her quickly across the large expanse of black leather, Michael's mouth latched onto hers, his tongue sliding over her teeth while his hands slid up the backs of his wife's silken thighs, spreading her limbs apart and then pushing into her warm moist center in one long merciless slide that had her groaning with desire. Fiona wrapped her legs around his waist and squeezed tight.

"No holding back, Michael," she panted, her eyes bright with lust.

The dark haired man did as he was bid, droving into her with wild abandon, using his elbows to steady himself, while he kissed her passionately, his lips a hot brand over her face and neck. If they had dared to take to the back seat of a car back in Belfast, it would have been like this, their bodies crashing together in a quest to satisfy their craving for one another. They soared to the heights of heaven together before he collapsed atop his wife, their trembling frames intertwined as they tried to slow their breathing, the fever heat of their sweat slicked skin still burning.

Eventually, her lover slowly shifted into a sitting position, pulling his beloved into his lap and they rested there, enjoying the silence, basking in the warmth of their closeness and the feel of supple skin over hard muscle now completely relaxed.

"I'm sorry I doubted you," he muttered the words into her tangled hair. "Anybody who could arrange a night like this and keep it secret and secure doesn't need me micro managing them."

She shifted in his arms, so she could look into his eyes. "I'll remind you of that next time I want to take Glenn for a walk around the park."

"Thank you, Fi... This was…" Michael was clearly at a loss for words.

"Who said the night was over? We need somewhere to shower off. I'm not going back to the boat looking like this," she declared with a laugh. "I have a key to a room at that motel we stayed at last time we visited this place."

"Fi…" He breathed her name. "You really _do_ think of everything."

"And don't you forget that either. Besides, we haven't got to use the Reddi-Whip just yet. Don't tell me you're not hungry for pie?" She filled the sentence with innuendo, arching an eyebrow. "Thar wa' a time we woulda spent all day in tha bed. Ya couldnae keep yar hands off me."

"I still have that problem." He gently squeezed one soft pliant breast, flashing his teeth in a grin when she gasped at his touch. "Let me find our clothes and I'll show you just how hungry I am."

And he did too in that small motel half way back to Miami.

And when the lovers returned to the _Easy Peasy_ the next morning, no one had to ask how their night had gone or if their friends had resolved their marital issues. The only question left was whether they were going scuba diving off the coast of Miami or if a quick trip to Key West was in order.


End file.
